Hello, Fascination

Feels like fucking 2009.

Anoba, bro.

Tanginerrr.

I close my eyes and it’s Tuesday (or Thursday… I can’t really tell).

A slight pain in le derriere reminds me of the sometimes tumultuous relationship between pebbled floor and ass.

Paper here and there; the familiar scent of my 6th highlighter; my laptop plugged to the nearest socket, playing rock music or the occasional pop tune. The silent shutters capturing five girls on a mundane whatever-day-it-is. Her with the iPod and George W. Her holiness with the blue carebear. Them with their matching red glasses — the dream-er and the queen (of wishful thinking). And me.

We talked about anything… and everything. School, and boys — the crushables; the classmates, batchmates, study buddy(?)… that one guy that makes time stop, the “he’s-just-a-friend”s and the i-saw-him-once-in-the-hallway boys that make us smile… and then we talked about new music, food (at least once every two hours), drafts and revisions and then boys again; this time, the ones that really matter — the joker who caught her stealing glances (sort of), the dancer,  that one prof and the boy who looks like him, the DJ, the dream or veggies or cocoa; that one guy whose hands and lips she should not have been acquainted with.

I could hear us now… well, not present us — old us — laughing, talking about the same things, same boys, same problems. It should feel like forever ago.