(my teeth chattered rhythms)

If you look back a few posts, you'll come across the 3 AM rager entitled 'spitting games.' I thought it would mean something to him, to me, be enlightening or resonating or even therapeutic. But it wasn't. In retrospect, it was not even anything new. It was the same old word vomit in a new age "personal" upgrade from Xanga. It was the same trite, pathetic drivel spewed forth upon keyboards by every Dashboard-loving 'real' adolescent in the English speaking world.

It wasn't even fucking poetic.

"I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths."
Thanks, Wislawa.

It's plausible-- and likely truth-- that I take for granted the life I am given and rather moan the litany of paltry frivolity.

Fuck it. I'm a suburban indie queen.
I'll pass off my pseudo-witty pop culture references as conversation and failed attempts at blissful forevers. I'll lament what I cannot fix simply because it'll fill the empty void of space with conversation. I'll dissect mix CDs and pour through track after track to compile the perfect soundtrack to what is currently a mundane existence. I'll write my papers and avoid the Medill 'F,' earn my BSJ and then, perhaps, my MRS. I'll whittle my days with nostalgia for badly-acted television from yesteryear. Brandon Walsh, I won't have a cow, man.

I'm a tawny gypsy girl
sleeping blanketed by stars.

I've done my fair share of over-analyzing every minute aspect of my 'romantic' life. I've divided my pursuits into 'Harry' and 'Cedric.'

I don't love Cedric. Not like I say I do, anyway. It's like in 'Tiny Vessels.'

this is the moment/
that you know/
that you told her that you loved her/
but you don't

I should. I truly should love him, be in love with him, but I just can't force it. I think I allowed myself to feel for him because of a bizarre amalgamation of unusual circumstances (see: foreign country, allegedly unrequited love for Harry). But now, with distance and miles and tangled phone lines cluttering up the path between my heart and my head (from me to you, you unrevealed)... I can't seem to reason any longer. I declared in the first few days that there was something about the nature of our relationship which defied reason and logic. I realize now that it's likely because it's unreasonable and entirely illogical. I can't reconcile the notion that it just doesn't make sense in my life, right now, with any lingering emotional sentiments.

And then there's Harry.
The-Boy-Who-Lived in my heart, in my head, in my words.

He's the soundtrack to summer, my autumn, my winter, my spring. He's the voice--

He's calling.
Harry's calling.

It's Harry's voice saying he's coming home. Harry's coming home.
To me.

Harry's coming home to me.

It's not over.