odds n' ends
どこでもいいよ
i. I like a yellow that is neither too bright nor too dark, a kind of transparent mustard, the murky sort of sunlight cast through sullied stained glass onto fragrant wooden floors. Not the floors that surround me right now—these have been owned by too many strangers. No, I am talking about the ones back home: red cedar planks that creak when you step on them, echoing the weight of your own existence. You jump up and down in attempts to amplify the sounds, and your mother shouts from downstairs to quit fooling around and come down for dinner.
ii. In this sense, my mother’s love is too much: the steady stream of WeChat links detailing everything from “How to Get into Top CS Grad Schools” to “The Secret to Happiness,” pulled from suspiciously sourced Chinese websites. The ringing of newly dusted wind chimes and the aroma of sun-baked sheets whenever I arrive home from a long semester. I never did say thank you. I still remember that time in fifth grade when she sat me down on a park bench and spoke about honesty and the weight of words. When she finally kissed me goodbye and said “I love you,” I heeded her teachings and replied with a “I don’t know what love is, so I don’t know if I love you.” And now whenever she tells me “I love you,” I instinctively answer “I love you too” because I hate to see her cry. iii. Too is too easy a word to say. The number of people who enjoy both Beach House and Yoga Lin is too little, so you cry a little too. |
Authora little cynical & tired Archives
July 2019
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