Twelve

01. Two days ago I wrote a 13-page letter to a good friend. In three weeks she'll have moved across the country. It still hasn't sunk in yet.
02. I've lost something and I'm terrified to admit it.
03. After months of adamantly believing that things might change, I've finally come to terms with the fact that wait lists aren't worth stressing over. Now I'm getting excited about the one school that's been excited about me all along.
04. Katie Collins and I are planning a beach trip!
05. The days grow more and more lovely and I want to don my sundresses and run around fields with my windswept hair dancing behind me.
06. I respect Mr. Tarmey more than I've ever respected any other teacher. Every class with him blew my mind and I only hope that others appreciate him and are able to see just how incredible he really is.
07. I wish Mount Holyoke had an orientation program during the summer.
08. There are certain people who want to see me and I can't understand why.
09. The new SunChips bag is compostable, which is amazing and something I fully support. But every time I reach my hand inside, it sounds like a grenade exploding within my eardrum.
10. Yesterday I was weeding in my yard when a lady bug fell off of its blade of grass and landed on the pavement by my dirtied thumb. Its cleaved shell was the most beautiful apple-red color, and it climbed onto my hand and sat there for a moment before lifting off and flying away with the breeze.
11. I wish I owned my own kayak.
12. The other day my friends and I were talking about our great-grandparents. I proudly announced that mine were both 98 years old, until reality slapped me in the face and I muttered, "Never mind....they both just passed away." Is it horrible that I seem to have forgotten? Or is that just how the truth finally sinks in?

I think I'd like

to develop a green thumb.

Neighbors

My body feels empty but my head feels full.

This I know is one right thing.

I am happy!
I know I am because this morning the sun's rays abstained from suffocation.
Instead of coddling me amid weighted layers, they brightened each next step, gifting to me a guided path for my feet as they consummated their marriage to the ground.

The air smells the way it did when I was younger.