moving on (november 1)

you don't even seem sorry as

my eyes dissolve into two brown napkins,

the paper rough against my swollen eyelids.

you watch me, eyes earnest and

whoever said brown eyes aren't gorgeous was a liar,

because somehow you have never looked so handsome.

your hands twist, untwist,

searching for something to hold onto.

i keep mine clasped between my knees.

they can no longer be that something.
i tell you everything,

my speech interrupted

by sporadic pauses for tears and extended, sobby silences.

i will never forget how much it hurts to tell you

that i will never forget how much you mean(t) to me.

your arms around me one last time,

and i guess I'll be seeing you around,

and your face is blurry through a veil of tears, and

i turn away.

they start spilling down my cheeks like

the rain against the cafe windows.

there's this little old lady and she says,

“oh, you're leaving? can i have your table?”

and I brush past her in disgust,

which is not deeply felt because the

sadness is taking up all the space.

i sob all the way back to the car.

i wonder if you watched me leave,

your face in the window,

or if you stared down at your hands,

marveling at what they had taken apart.

you told me you would have done

anything to change things,

anything to make it right.

i would consider it if i learned

that you did not give the little old lady our table.

aardvark poetry

I've been at summer writing camp these past two weeks. One day, my poetry class was trying to write a rondelet, which is a french form poem. One guy came up with our first line: the aardvarks say. And here is the poem we wrote.

The aardvarks say

Your love is smallpox for the tribes.

The aardvarks say

Send the spaniards out to the quay

Carrying whips and sneering knives

To kill the men and steal their brides 

The aardvarks say.

From here, we went a little crazy with the aardvark themes, and now there's this running aardvark joke in my class. I am really going to miss this camp.

Here's a poem another group in my class wrote. It had to be written to a certain meter pattern:

The rain, it falls upon aardvarks

so deep with dark of night. I watch

them run in fear through the trees. Aardvarks

in the streets, in the schools, in the city, in the wild. Everywhere.

two deaths and a reunion

   (tfois fanfic)
   
    It's gotten to the point where he can't remember much. But he can see Hazel Grace. He doesn't know if she's a dream. A memory. A hallucination. 
   There she is, slouched in her chair in the literal heart of Jesus - fiddling with the cannula that's keeping her alive. She looks radiant, despite everything. Despite the drugs and the exhaustion and the lack of air. Her eyes are bright as she catches his glance, and her lips curve up into the tiniest smile. She is so beautiful.
   There she is as she sits next to him on that lonely swingset, her face solemn and lit by the light of the cloudy sky. Staring down at her lap, she's telling him to stay away, but even as the words leave her mouth, he can feel the magnetic pull between their hearts, and he knows that promising to stay away is a promise he can't make. 
   There she is when he's dying at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, only a husk of the former great Augustus. Now he is only Gus. The scared little boy with his shirt drenched in vomit. But Hazel is there, and she is only Hazel. She has never been anyone else but herself - unashamedly so. She is the Hazel who wears t-shirts with obscure Magritte references and gets sad about pathetic swing sets and is willing to drive out to recite poetry to him when he's losing himself. He may have tried to be many things, but she has only ever been Hazel, and she is more than enough.
   When death finally comes to Augustus, there is one thought - one thought directed at whatever capital S Something is waiting for him. 
   Give her more time. 

   She can't breathe.
   She hasn't been able to for a while now, but this is different. This isn't like before.
   She has always been drowning. Always struggling for air past the liquid that insisted on filling and refilling her tired lungs. She has always felt the weight of an ocean inside her, trying to drag her down into its unknown depths. 
    But there is no water now.
    Now, there is fire. 
    It licks at her chest and the smoke rises to clog her throat, to turn her screams of pain into muffled, bloody coughs. It burns unreachable places of her. For the first time in her life, she wishes that there was water enough in her lungs to make it stop. 
    And then it does.

    There is light.
    Then there is air in her lungs. Sweet, pure, cold, and real - painless. She gulps it in like it's water and she's been dying in a desert. That's what it feels like - like water soothing her cracked, dry, burned-out lungs. She finds herself on her feet and the air keeps filling her and she feels no exhaustion. It's like flying or falling, or like swallowing pure goodness.
    She takes a few steps forward and then breaks into a run. She hasn't run since she was thirteen - since before the diagnosis. And now she's racing like her feet have wings. When she stops, she doesn't have to bend over to catch her breath or to still her pounding heart. She doesn't collapse. She just stands there surrounded by whiteness as tears fall down her cheeks and as her lungs don't fail her. She feels reborn. The new and improved - 
    "Took you long enough, Hazel Grace."
    Now her breath catches. She looks up and swipes away her tears, but they only continue to gush as she considers the figure before her. Someone radiant and tall, wearing a crooked smile and tousled hair.
    "Augustus," she gasps, and then his arms are around her. She leans her face against his powerful chest and cries. He's laughing, but when she looks up at his face - God, she's missed his face so much - she can see that he's crying, too. She raises a hand and places is it on his cheek. His skin is soft and his tears wet her fingers and she can't get past the fact that he's here, right in front of her. "You're real?"
    "I'm real," he tells her. 
    "This is heaven?"
    He grins. "If ever there were a literal heart of Jesus, this would be it."
    She laughs. And then she puts a hand on her chest, so overwhelmed with joy that she almost feels lightheaded. "Gus, I can breathe. I can breathe. Look at this!" She steps away from him to spin in circles, her laughter filling the air. Just as she's about to fall over, Gus catches her, and as she's laughing in his arms he pulls up his pantleg. "Check this out, Hazel Grace." His leg is whole.
    She can't stop staring at his face. The Augustus she missed, the Augustus who left her behind - she can't believe he's here, real and warm against her skin, and without thinking she stretches up on her toes and kisses him. She doesn't have to stop and gasp for breath.
    When she breaks away, he's smiling, and he relinquishes his hold on her to drape an arm across her shoulder. "There are some people you need to meet, Hazel Grace." He looks forward, into the indeterminable whiteness, but then his eyes meet hers, and he smiles. "Okay?"
     Smiling back, she takes his hand and holds it to her chest, gazing at his fingers. Nails, skin, muscle and bone, all real and soft and holding her. She says, "Okay."
     And they step forward together into an eternity that, this time, is real.

Improbable Goings-On in the Burgess Stop n' Save, part 8

                                                                       - Sparrow -
     Cas had to sit across from me, as if he wanted me to stare at him all evening. (Okay, so maybe I was the one who secured this seat first. But still.) He even took my prized mug. What a jerk. What a perfect jerk.
     My mom's asking all the usual questions. "So you work at the grocery store?"
     Cas nods and works on swallowing a mouthful of stuffing. "Yeah, I started when I was fifteen."
     "And you like it?"
     "Yes. A lot, actually." He takes a sip of milk and his eyes stray to mine. When he puts his cup down, he has a milk mustache. I shake my head with a smile.
     "Do you live nearby?"
     He tilts his head to either side, as if considering this. "Relatively. Over in Burgess."
     "I bet your family's nice."
     He nods. "Yeah, they are. There's kind of a lot of us, though." He takes a bite of potato before he continues. "I'm the oldest. Then there's my sister - Ari. She's thirteen. And my brother Ben is eight. Plus my mom and dad. So family vacations are a blast." 
      I shove my stuffing around my plate with my fork, then stab a small chunk of bread. 
      "Do you know where your going to school?" Wow, didn't see that one coming. That's like the staple adult question nowadays.
      "Not yet, but my top school is U of T." I perk up at that. The University of Toronto is one of my top schools as well. I want to major in Music Performance - Violin, specifically. Maybe I'll become a music teacher someday. But I also want to write. And I want to paint. I really have no idea where I'm going in life.
      Neither does Cas, apparently - he tells my mom he doesn't know what major he wants to pursue. "Confused young adults unite," I pipe in, and he grins at me, saying, "Let's start a club. We'll meet in the grocery store and strum banjos and pursue world peace." I tell him I'll contribute my violin, and then we're both laughing and before I know it we're clearing away the plates.
      I'm sticking some in the dishwasher when my mom's like, "Cas, don't you have to be getting home?" I do not like that idea. He should stay for a while. Possibly forever.
      Cas glances at his watch. I hadn't noticed before that he was wearing one. "Uh, I should probably call my mom and let her know where I am," he laughs. "I kind of forgot to do that. Excuse me." He disappears into the living room. I turn back to my dishes, knowing what's coming.
      Mom pops up at my side and intones immediately, "Sparrow, he's gorgeous."
      Some kind of strangled, embarrassed noise comes from me as I hide my face. "Stop it!" I squeal. I can feel my face flaming. "I know!"
      Her signature laugh, loud and smooth, fills the kitchen, and she bumps me lightly aside. "Go show him around. I'll take over the dishes." I look at her, and she gives me a glance and a wink before she turns to the dishes that need to be done.
      When I get to the living room, the floor transitioning from hardwood to carpet, Cas is just getting off the phone. "Hey," he smiles, slipping it into his pocket.
      "What's happening?" I ask.
      "She just wants me stay safe. Basically. I'm sure I'll be fine to drive home in the dark." We both glance at the window - light's fading from the sky, but the snow is ever bright. 
      I look back at him. He looks back at me.
      "Wanna... see my room?" I ask suddenly. 
      His gaze moves to the stairs, then back at me. And he smiles. "Sure."

                                                                 - Cas - 
      The first thing I say is "The walls are purple. I'm not surprised."
      She laughs and socks me lightly in the shoulder. I stands in the doorway,  looking around reverently, even somewhat afraid I'll break something if I take a step forward. 
      Sparrow plunks down on the bed, which is near a window that looks out onto the driveway. It's framed by white Christmas lights - in fact, they line the whole room, situated where the ceiling meets the wall. Why do cute girls always have Christmas lights in their rooms? There are posters of things. Harry Potter, Divergent, Homestuck - whatever that is. And surrounding the larger posters are all these smaller pictures - drawings, photographs, and quotes from things. It's like a massive collage taking up one whole side of her room. 
      She ends up next to me somehow. "So what's the verdict?" she asks, glancing at me with a smile. The fairy lights reflect in her eyes, and they seem darker than ever. 
      "It's very... you," I reply. I approach the collage and peer at a photo of Sparrow with a group of friends. They're all grinning - looking spiffy in business attire and wearing colored lanyards around their necks.
      "Those are my Model UN friends," Sparrow explains. "I was Denmark."
      My finger touches the photo-Sparrow. "Your lanyard is purple."
      "I'm sorry! I really freaking like purple!"
      The next thing in the collage is a quote - "Let's focus on what's important in life: friends, waffles, work." Can't deny that. Another quote: "Stay gold, Ponyboy." There are many quotes, all situated on paper of different colors and shapes and sizes. My eyes land on a few photos in a cluster - a girl in a field wearing a flower crown, lit from behind by a setting sun; two guys laughing together in black and white; a dog whose face takes up the whole frame. "Did you take these?" I ask.
      She nods. "I like photography." She says it in a sort of exhalation, like it's no big deal. "Sometimes I take photoshoots with my friends."
       "Is there any art form you're not into?" I laugh. I have never been much of an artist myself.
       "Dancing. I can't dance." 
       "You're in luck." In a swift motion, I pull her close to me - my hand is on her waist, and the other clasps her left hand. "I took ballroom dance when I was fourteen."
       Resting her other hand lightly on my shoulder, she laughs. "What fourteen-year-old boy takes ballroom dance -"
       But I'm already whisking her around the room, which is surprisingly spacious anyways. Her hand tightens around mine, and she laughs again as she stumbles on my feet. She won't meet my eyes - her cheeks are pink. "Just follow my feet," I instruct her gently. We twirl around in the same circuit a few times before she starts to get it, and then we move easily around the room.
       "You're pretty good at this," I tell her, slowing us down a little. Finally, her eyes meet mine, and she gives a small shrug. "I love listening to waltz music."
       I have a brief vision of her dancing around her room on her own, and it makes me smile. She smiles back, then looks down, her lashes veiling her eyes. For a moment, I let go of her hand, using it to move a strand of blonde hair off her cheek. She freezes.
       My phone rings, sharp and loud. I dig into my pocket, and Sparrow takes a step back from me, her hands leaving mine. I can already feel the absence of her warmth. My mom's picture is flashing on the screen as the phone vibrates wildly in my hand. I've always thought the whole vibrating-noise-flashing thing that cell phones do is slightly overwhelming. Exasperated, I answer the call.
      "Hello?"
      "Caspian, are you still at dinner?"
      My eyes stray to Sparrow. She's admiring her collage silently, hands clasped. "Yes?"
      "Can you come home? I know I told you you could stay a while, but your dad isn't home yet and Ben is screaming that he wants you to build Legos with him." She pauses, and in the background I hear my little brother yelling something unintelligible. "Can you make it?"
       "Of course," I reply. "Where's Ari?"
       "Ben doesn't want to play with her."
       I look around Sparrow's room, feeling disappointed. "Okay. Be right there."
       My mom says goodbye, and I hang up the phone. Sometimes I am the only one who can appease my little brother. Sparrow's looking at me expectantly, her elaborate collage forgotten.
       "My mom wants me to come home," I say in disappointment.
       Her face falls a bit. "Oh." She hesitates, her eyes urgent. "Okay. Well... thanks so much for coming." She steps forward and clasps her arms around my torso, her face hidden in my chest. I drape my arms around her shoulders. She's so tiny. 
       Eventually she takes a step back and we walk down the stairs. Sparrow's mom comes around to the bottom and smiles at us as we descend. "You leaving, Cas?"
       "Yeah," I say. Once I'm at the bottom I give her a light hug. "Thanks for dinner. And for having me." 
       "Come back whenever you want," she tells me. "Our doors are open." I laugh a little and look over at Sparrow, who's holding up my coat with a grin. 
       I take it from her and slide my arms in, tucking it in around me, preparing to leave the cozy little foyer. "Okay," I begin, unsure of what else to say. "Goodbye. Thank you."
       And now I'm on the other side of the door and walking down the snowy steps, and Sparrow's waving at me, and I smile and wave back. Then it's closed and I'm alone, getting in my car and heading down the snowy roads toward home.

- Sparrow - 

I forgot to thank him for teaching me how to dance.

Improbable Goings-On in the Burgess Stop n' Save, part 7

                                                                               - Cas - 

    The warmth in the house is flawless. I breathe a sigh of relief and unzip my coat, nearly bumping into a side table next to the door. Directly ahead is a white staircase, and next to it is a small hallway lined with photos, leading to a lighted room - the kitchen. Sparrow's mom has already disappeared. I look over at Sparrow, who's hanging her coat on a rack in the nearby living room. She smiles at me and motions to take my coat, and I pass it to her. 
     I feel like if I had seen this house in photos, or if I had just been here one day, I would have known that it was the house Sparrow lived in. A number of soft-looking scarves are hanging on the coat rack, all of them some shade of purple. The living room has dark curtains that are thrown open to allow the whitish light of winter. In the center of the room is a black podium stacked with thin books, and on the ground, a white violin rests in its case. Have you ever noticed how certain people have these distinct smells? This house is filled with a Sparrow-smell. 
      Sparrow gazes around the room and then tells me, "When we moved here, I took charge of decorating this room." I can tell. She motions across the way, to a charmingly cluttered room painted light blue. "...and my mom took that one." There looks to be a sewing machine in there, and scattered samples of fabric piled up in order by color. The desk holds a typewriter and chaotically piled papers. Sparrow's mom seems to like piles. 
       Her voice floats in from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"
       Sparrow heads toward the hallway. "Wait," I stop her. "I didn't realize I was staying for dinner."
       Her eyebrows rise up with the corners of her mouth. "Aren't you hungry?"
       "Yeah, but... I don't want to intrude."
       She gives a short burst of laughter. "Oh my God, you dork!" She touches her hand to her forehead for a moment, grinning, then looks up at me. "Stop being so darn polite. You're not intruding at all. We're glad to have you. Really." 
        The kitchen is lit in warm yellow light, and Sparrow's mom is setting a large bowl out on the table. "Is there anything I can help with?" I ask, eliciting an eye-roll and a smile from Sparrow as she's pulling dishes out of the cabinet. 
         Her mom turns to me, sliding a few placemats into my arms. "Just put these down, dear," she says, already bustling away to stir a steaming pot on the stove. I unfold the placemats and flatten them out on the round wooden table. Behind it, a bay window with the blinds pulled looks out on the snow-laden backyard. There are four seats at the table, but only three place settings. I lay them out so that the empty seat doesn't feel so conspicuous, wondering who's missing.
         "So how do you kids know each other?" Sparrow's mom asks. I head over to take three plates out of her hands before going back to the table, hiding my smile. "I ran into Cas at the grocery store," Sparrow says. I can't see her expression because she's turned away to grab silverware out of a drawer. "And we just... became friends." She shuts the drawer and turns back around. Her eyes are on the silverware in her fists, but then they stray up to meet mine. We both smile.
        "What exactly resulted in Cas driving you home today?" Sparrow's mom has pale eyes and long, dark hair - the inverse of Sparrow. Her skin is even a tad darker. When she raises her face to look at me, I can see the similarities - they both have straight noses and nearly identical profiles. But Sparrow's face is petite where her mom's is long.
        "I walked to the Stop n' Save from school," Sparrow explains. Her mom seems to begin to protest, but Sparrow cuts her off. "I couldn't get a hold of you, and no one at school was willing to drive me anywhere, so I went out and just started walking and then I saw the Stop n' Save so I stopped there to get warm and Cas was there and he took care of me. And drove me here. So I'm okay and we're all good." She exhales all of this, and I feel like she has done this sort of let-me-explain-before-you-murder-me type of convincing before. She stops and looks at her mom tentatively, unaware of what her reaction will be. But her mom has turned to me fixes me with a gaze that I can't read.
      She comes over and puts both hands on my shoulders. My eyes flick to Sparrow's as she looks on in amusement, but then back to her mom's. I find honesty there. And she tells me, "Thank you for driving my daughter home." Then she hugs me. I wrap my arms around her as softly as I can, looking at Sparrow again. She's just smiling. "Uh, you're welcome," I say, then add, "It was... no trouble at all." Sparrow's mom takes a step back, but before she turns away she tells me, "You're a good kid, Cas."
       Sparrow gives me a shrug, and I go to help her remove cups from the cabinet. Since I'm taller, I pull them out and pass them to her, and she picks them up, two in each hand. "Aww, look at this!" she's saying as I close the cabinet. Having put down the others, she's gazing at a mug that's sloppily painted pink and blue and white, with raised flowers all over it and a chipped handle. Its polished glaze shines in the light. Sparrow holds it out to me, her expression radiant. "I made this when I was, like, ten. Isn't it lovely?"
       I take it from her and examine it for a moment. "Yes, lovely is definitely a word I would use to describe this mug." I laugh at the mock angry expression that comes over her face before I go to set out the rest of the mugs. Sparrow's mom brushes past me to put a pot down in the center of the table, and Sparrow drops the silverware on either side of each plate. 
       "Is that everything?" Sparrow asks, sitting down across from me and smoothing her skirt. Her mom pulls off her oven mitts and dusts off her hands. "I believe so," she singsongs, taking the chair next to me. 

if these wings could fly

  Junior year sucks. High school is stupid. Whose idea was it to throw four hundred hormone-flooded teenagers into a building to do stuff they hate for eight hours a day with little to no breaks? No wonder everyone hates getting an education. I wish we could have specialized classes that focus on what we actually want to do with our lives. But no. Colleges want us to be good at grammar and math and science and art (but don't go into art as a career, because then you'll never make any money and you'll be a total loser!) and they also want us to save children from burning houses, and they want us to start SFPOBC (The Societies for the Prevention of Burning Children), and they want us to have begun a Bible studies at our churches for children who have escaped from fires.
   It's the beginning of May. I still have to make a post about Prom, which was last week. I'm also going to start the next installment of the Burgess story. ^u^ But that's not quite happening yet. I want school to end, but I don't want AP English to be over. I could spend the rest of my life in that class and be perfectly happy. My teacher's awesome, and he talks to us like we actually have brains, and I've learned more about writing in his class than I have in all of high school so far. I'm actually taking the exam today. Woot. I guess.
     So that's all really. Oh, and here's a super awesome song.

contemplation

   I've been thinking about Celeste lately. You remember. Her name isn't really Celeste, but that's what I call her - the girl who ruined me and strengthened me with the same blow. My former best friend. I've just been reminiscing about how perfect those days of my life were - when I'd spend Saturday after Saturday at her house, flying down the roads on our scooters, eating all the snacks in her pantry, and exploring the creek in her backyard.
    I remember the color of her walls - lavender - and how she never liked electric lights, but she loved candles. She loved smelly things. I remember the closet full of stuffed animals and books. I remember the oak desk with the rolling top. I remember how quiet her house was, smack dab in the middle of a forest, like a little paradise. I remember her backyard. A flat plane of long grass with the beckoning forest at its edge. I remember kicking our soccer ball into the woods and chasing after it. I remember walking down to the creek and leaping across islands of sand and stealing smooth rocks from the water. I remember how we hid a paper - a treaty of sorts - promising that we would never stop being friends, complete with our scrawled sixth-grader signatures and our endlessly naïve sixth-grader promises, under a tree root and returned to it week after week until it crumpled into mud. I remember swinging side by side on that creaky old playset and trying to climb up the slide (it was impossible). I remember the maroon color of the kitchen walls and the cold granite countertops and the bowl of snacks that was always ready for us on the table. I remember pizzas ordered and laughs shared over servings of stretchy cheese and dough. I remember trying to play the piano in her living room even though my fingers fumbled on the keys. I remember her fluffy purple bedspread and her beach photos and how much we loved American Girl Dolls. 
    She loved making videos. One Christmas she got a laptop and a fancy editing software and we made all these silly videos together - about dolls and the creek and friendship. Stretched out on her bed, we'd manipulate music and footage to create DVDs that represented our childhood.
    Today I was sitting in the car and this song came on - Good Life by OneRepublic. Everyone has a song, and that was ours. As I sat in the air-conditioned capsule under a perfect blue sky, I could feel myself remembering scraped knees and shorts and sunny days spent in the glow of a friendship that I never thought would end. 
    Later today I popped a DVD performance of last year's marching band show into the TV only to find that it was not a DVD performance of last year's marching band show. It was one of me and Celeste's videos. I started crying in two seconds flat, and as the music started playing I hit the stop button and wondered why she kept popping up in my day. Why would I need to care about her? She has plenty of friends and her boyfriend, whom she'll probably marry the day she graduates high school. I will not be in her wedding, like we had planned it when we were ten, and she will not be in mine.
    I'm grateful to be out of Celeste's life, and I let it all go a long time ago. But I will never get over how she left without a single word. How I held her up and mended her wings and loved her just to let her leave me without a glance back. I was there, always, and she never was. 
   The death of our friendship made me stronger than pretty much anything else could have. I'm glad it happened. Having Celeste out of my life is a blessing. But I think sometimes it's good to remember the things that made you who you are, and to remember that God is always good. He took a pushover of a girl and helped her become someone who knows her value and knows that true friendships don't mean missed calls and nights spent crying. And he reminded her that His plans for her life are so much better than her own.
    As OneRepublic says, it's a good life.

Improbable Goings-On in the Burgess Stop n' Save, part 6

                                                                         - Sparrow -

   (I was going to write a thing where Cas and Sparrow had adventures in the empty grocery store, but I stink at writing dialogue so we'll come back to it later. Now he's driving her home.)

  Cas' car is a squat blue Toyota, smack in the middle of a very empty parking lot. Inside, it is freezing, which is normal. It also smells like spearmint, which is not as normal. I hop into the shotgun seat and shiver, folding my arms to keep in the warmth while the air vaporizes my breath.
     The driver side door opens, admitting cold air and heavy snowflakes and Cas before he plops down and slams it shut. He rips off his gloves and rubs his cold hands together. "Great weather we're having." Finally, he sticks the key in the ignition. Warm air blasts from the vents as the car comes to life. I sigh happily and unwrap my scarf to let the warmth touch my neck.
     Cas turns on the window wipers, and the piled snow collapses off the windshield. "So where are we going?" he asks. The snow lights up the blue of his eyes as he looks at me seriously. 
     I squint through the windshield and see just whiteness. "Seaport Lane," I say. "Do you know how to get there?"
     "Yeah. That's near Benson, right?" While he's talking, he starts backing out of the parking spot, snow crunching under the tires.
     "Yes." Benson is the town one over from Burgess. I live on its outskirts, like I kind of live in Benson and also kind of live in Burgess. I try dialing my mom again, and the call doesn't go through, so I give up and slip my phone into my coat pocket. At least now we know she's okay. 
     Cas is saying something about his cousins who live in Benson, and I watch his face reservedly as we pull out of the parking lot. Everything about him is like light. His silly smile, his bright eyes, his one wildly gesturing hand as the other grips the steering wheel. And the way he keeps glancing at me, as if to make sure I'm still there. It makes me feel too important. Like, I'm just Sparrow. I sit around eating soup and writing bad poetry and scraping at my violin. Stop blessing me with the presence of your gorgeous face and gorgeous self. But he does anyway, like he doesn't care that we live on totally separate levels of existence - he on one of grocery store greatness and me on one of social discomfort and soup obsession.
    The road ahead is long and white, and fat snowflakes batter the windshield. I'm perfectly happy with sitting here and being near Cas. 
    "What's your favorite color?" he asks suddenly.
    I consider it for a moment. "Purple," I reply. "All shades."
    He smiles and uses one hand to swing the tail of my scarf into my face. "I figured," he laughs.
    "What's yours?"
    He's quiet for a bit as he stares out at the driving snow. "Green." His teeth flash in a smile. "Like moss and grass. Springtime."
    I wave my hand over the expanse of white ahead. "So this is definitely your kind of weather."
    He smiles and is silent for a bit. Then he asks, "How's high school treating you?"
    I consider it, then shrug distantly. "I hate it."
    He laughs. "Well then. How come?"
    "Because of social hierarchies." I wrinkle my nose. "Because of math class and college applications and crowded hallways. I hate being enclosed."
    "Your name suits you," he smiles.
    "And people are just rude!" I continue explosively. "I get so tired of people." A thought occurs to me, and I fall silent, smiling to myself. I could never say it out loud. And yet... maybe sometimes I need to say what I think instead of holding it in.
    My voice is quieter than before - more tentative when I say, "But I never get tired of you."
    Cas smiles at that, looking down for a moment. Is he blushing? I can't tell. His eyes are back on the road.
    After a half hour of slow snow driving, we pull into my driveway. I try to peer past the windows of our squat blue house, but I can't see any movement inside. "I wonder of she's even home," I muse to Cas as I start getting out of the car. He hasn't moved - he's just looking vacantly out the windshield.
    I pause, and my brow lowers. "You're coming, right?"
    He looks at me in surprise. "...Should I?"
    "Of course! Come on." I slam the car door shut, and snow falls off the edges. Cas gets out and joins me on the other side of the car, his hands shoved into his pockets. He gives me a small smile, and we start up the path toward my front steps.
    I've never invited a boy to my house before. My mom'll probably freak out. Not in a bad way, but in a "Sparrow-you-actually-have-friends" kind of way. Probably in a "what-a-cute-guy--you-should-date-him" kind of way. Blood rushes to my cheeks at that thought. Me and Cas, dating? Good Lord.
    The stairs are coated in snow. I step up them carefully and ring the doorbell, then knock with a curled fist, very conscious of Cas behind me. 
    The door opens to my mother throwing her arms around me. "You made it, dear!" 
    I laugh. "You didn't answer your phone, mom."
    "It hasn't been working right." Her voice is muffled, coming from somewhere behind my ear. She unfolds herself from me and focuses on Cas immediately. "Who's this?" I can hear the approval in her voice. Oh, god.
    "This is Cas. He brought me home." At the sound of his name, Cas smiles and goes in for a handshake, but my mom hugs him instead. He grins at me from my mother's grip, and I try not to laugh. Then she lets him go. "Nice to meet you," Cas tells her with a tentative smile. 
    "It's a pleasure, darling. Come on in." She turns to get past me and inside - and as she does, she waggles her eyebrows at me. I frown in mock anger, my eyes going to Cas. He's watching the exchange with interest. 
    I grin and turn to follow her in.

two thousand and thirteen things

I wrote this a while as a recap of last year, but then forgot to post it. So... yeah.

January.

Les Misérables and Homestuck and digital art and the monotony of January. Cold weather and clouds that last long enough to make everything feel hopeless. Your visit your old school and your best friend and her boyfriend at their Homecoming and you feel like she is replacing you and it's the worst feeling in the world. 

February.
D-now at your friend's church, and all your other friends are there, but then when she wins a prize for having brought the most people you wonder if that was really why she invited you. There's a scavenger hunt involving finding roadkill and you all gather around a dead raccoon and sing Amazing Grace. You go see a movie about zombies with two of your best friends and the memory of how fun it was sticks in your mind for a long time, even now. You wish that could happen more. 

March.

You cry when you watch Titanic, and you cry when your friends pour out their hearts to you because there's no way you could ever make them stop feeling sad. A fabulous birthday party is followed a not-so-fabulous reunion in a shopping mall with your best friend, who breaks your heart and you are speechless. Your brother becomes an adult and you wonder at the feeling. Every Sunday night you watch a TV show called Vikings, and you remember the events of each week by the events of the show that week. You become friends with someone from your school who you never thought you'd get to know, but by now you can't really imagine not being friends with them. You just really want the school year to be over. Doctor Who comes on again, and it is perfect.

April.

An art show and a number - 413. You see your dear great aunt, who is in the hospital and will not be returning home. You are alone on an airplane for the first time, and the experience is completely boring. 

May.

You get a haircut. You love it. You love The Great Gatsby and you hate the AP Biology exam and you love going to an anime convention with your best friends in the world. You doubt that you will ever have the same amount of fun ever again. You dress up as Rose Lalonde from Homestuck and you meet lots of other Homestuck cosplayers and everyone is smiling and having the time of their lives. There are ramen noodles and ramune and new friends. It's summer - you've made it.

June.
You go to camp. This is your seventh year and it feels like home, just like it always does. You have missed your camp friends so much, and seeing them again makes you wonder why you never actually try to see them outside of camp. It's your ex-best friend's birthday. You don't hear a peep from her. She doesn't here a peep from you. Your friends are scheming to get you into a relationship with a certain person. And somehow you aren't opposed to the idea of that, no matter what you tell yourself.

July.

You are bitten by the anime bug - Attack on Titan and Free. You never thought it would catch you. Your cousin comes down for a few weeks, and you can't believe how much he's grown. He's taller and his voice is deeper, but he's actually the exact same person inside. You hope he never changes in that way. He plays on his i-pad and takes you geocaching and you watch Phantom of the Opera, and then you go to Canada to visit his house and every day is the depth of summer. Making slushies and biking to a park nearby and watching Community for at least five hours a day and drinking tea and working on Wreck This Journal. You go paintballing. It hurts a lot. You run a 5K - the Color Run. Afterward, you have a water fight in the backyard to get all the color off.

August.
You go to a random town in the middle of nowhere with your dad because some actress was born there. You listen to Welcome to Night Vale. Band camp. Wow, you are really, really bad at spinning a flag. It is so hot outside. Your arms are always sore. Your skin is always burned. You make new friends and you learn a lot but you are always painfully aware of how weak your skills are, even to this day. For someone who is really confident, you sure do lack confidence. Then is the band trip to a nearby amusement park, and it's one of the best days of the year to you. You go on lots of rides and you foster new friendships and you find out how not to have a relationship with someone else. School starts. It is your second-to-last year of school. Your birthday brings you a charm bracelet and a shattered phone and a trip to the movies on a school night. 

September. 
Homework and band competitions. You freaking love Marching Band. More homework.

October.

You have finally realized that your ex best friend is just that. You begin to realize that there is someone new who makes you feel like every nerve in your body is charged with electricity. Why would you spend time with your sucky ex-best friend when people like him exist in the world? You go to the fair and there are bunnies, and that makes the experience entirely worth it - well, that and the fact that you get to spend a whole day with two of your favorite people, and then later in the day you change groups and now you're with two of your other favorite people and their favorite people and it is all so much fun, but you just keep thinking back with wonder on how that person makes you feel. 

November.
November has always been your favorite month. This November feel fulls of waiting. Waiting for Christmas, waiting for the promise of snow, waiting to see what happens with this person and you. You march in a parade and the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Special is disappointing. You visit Washington D.C. - Mount Vernon and the American Girl Place. You love big cities. 

December. 
Exams happen, and then other things happen. You go see The Hobbit with your friends and the person is there, and it's perfect. After that they all come to your house and you play dumb hide-and-seek and then they open the presents you gave them - stuffed animals. A tyrannosaurus, a polar bear, a koala, and a walrus. You eat a ton of cupcakes. It's a lot of fun. The next night you're talking to your person about how much you want to see Pacific Rim and then he says let's go see it sometime and you say real question: are you asking me out? and he says possibly. however, i would rather not do it over texting because that is horribly reminiscent of things i heard of in middle school. So basically, he is perfect, and you've been asked out for the first time in your life. You don't really stop thinking about him when you go to Canada over Christmas break, and you really hope you won't ever regret everything that you feel about him. 

ehhh what

It's about time I made a post. What am I doing with my life?

Currently, stressing out about school.

I keep listening to this because it's perfect and George Blagden is perfect:

I've been... I dunno. Lots of things have been happening. 

I saw Frozen and it was perfect. 

I don't really know what else to say. I should write some stuff later - add another installment to the Burgess story.

I'll go now. Listen to George Blagden. Be happy. :3