fish are blowing bubbles
we were listening to the heart sutra in my college’s ‘fun room’ and were going UMMMM when some dudebros walked in and that was awkward
giants translucent bubbles
And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm - whether it’s something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.
Please do not misunderstand.
That woman who carries winter
inside her, dizzied by snowfall
that won’t level off—I would say
I love her, but I is too strong a word
and love not strong enough.
I didn’t sleep with him. Not even a kiss. Our last night together, at about 4 a.m., I retreated to take out my contacts, and when I returned, he was lying on the couch. I don’t know how it happened, but I ended up on the couch with him, wrapped in him, feeling safe and blissful and, dare I say it: loved. For the first time in my life. When he tried to kiss my neck, I told him it wasn’t a good idea at all, and he backed off. We lay in each other’s arms into the morning. You are beautiful, I tell him, and he says the same to me. The moment is beautiful. It is a moment I have never experienced before. It felt like pure bliss, pure acceptance, universal love, peace, and all the things people yearn for but don’t seem to find.