Complicated Things

What can I say, I guess I'm not too good at living in Wellesley. The days and nights roll translucently; memories like slides in a projector.

I could talk about direction, I could. I could talk about desire, too, but I wouldn't know where to begin.

I want to see the coral reefs, the northern lights, and sleep under the stars (all of them). That doesn't seem to mean much right now though. What would life be like if I filled my obligations by 30? Maybe by then I'll have some salaried job, salary all allocated about already anyway.

I can't help but get all existential when the conveyor belt stops. When it comes down to it, I only want the simple things: music curling through the speakers as I saute some delicious disaster, the sun blasting through and onto the page of something powerful, provokingly unfamiliar horizons after some disoriented course, and feet not being able to help themselves but groove with it all.

Yeah, I'd take that over coral reefs any day.