(My) sparrow blue
Diagrams by Rina Nicolae
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I went somewhere this summer. I hope to have it all figured out by winter.
It was a strike of luck that I made it to the Van Nuys Flyaway just in time for my favorite driver's turn to LAX. He always plays the classics and he chats with everyone before they board. He asked me where I was headed and I told him. The bus's frit band blurred out my view of morning traffic out the window, so I resorted to intermittent glances at the reflection of the lady sat in front of me hold her hands to her mouth as we went on. She resembled Marina Abramović with her pristine black hair like a cloak, an aquiline nose, and pale hands. She was opposite the lady sat beside her with an overstuffed backpack situated on her lap. She had frizzy blonde hair, a tawniness to her complexion, and she spoke enthusiastically with a clearly Californian drawl to the man to her right. She told him that she recently moved to Hawaii and spoke praises about leaving the city for the serenity of the islands. The man she was speaking to was an older Latino whose laughs seemed to always reach his eyes. Before we had driven off, his friend had ran onto the bus and handed him a wireless mouse he had left in the car. He laughed in gratitude and gave his friend one of his eye-smiles. He eye-smiled again and waved his mouse in the air and told Miss Hawaii that it belonged to his mom. I love when warm, simple experiences slip into my day to bring me back down to Earth again. When we got to Terminal 3, the driver wished me luck.
A day later at an airport that wasn't LAX, I got my birth chart read by a 23-year-old girl who lived in the Upper West Side while I ate a CAVA kids meal that tasted like impatience and tzatziki. She asked me questions like Did your parents fight a lot when you were a kid? Do you have trouble with intimacy? Do you want to know about your death? Apparently, my chart points to aloofness, a significant Saturn Return, and consideration to marry a "healed" Pisces man. Is that even a thing? I had only slept for four hours the evening before and packed my Repetto Camilles and nothing else, so I was left with cold feet and strange feelings.
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I read something at 4 am that brought me to tears. My tissue box was taken from work and were of such poor quality that the weight of each droplet immediately burned through the singular ply of each sheet. When I went to New York last year for Saray and I's March birthdays, I remember apologizing for being blue and crying and probably looking awful. On the subway ride from Brooklyn back to Manhattan, my friends told me that I was a pretty crier. I remember that every time I'm teary-eyed (plenty of times). I cry easily and feel everything and then I move onto the next thing and I guess I do it prettily.
This summer has been about flowy skirts and the daunting reality of fulfilling the prophecy. For the past few weeks, my right ear hearing has been wavering. The Italian skirt I wanted from an evil price gouger on Depop finally sold and I'm hoping the buyer doesn't spiritually align with the silhouette and that it somehow ends up mine's in the end. I've been thinking about leaving or staying or being somewhere in between. Watched Le souffle au cœur. Read Bonjour Tristesse. A man texted me, "I fear for your odds!" Too bad, I'll have it all. Purchased a Pieces of Porcelain set except they were two pieces from different sets. Stace said I'd look angelic either way. Everyone wants to go to New York again.
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Walk Away -- Yeek ft. Saru Libey
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