Au Revoir

I guess this is it.
I set my alarm for six-thirty, even though God knows me well enough to snooze it until seven.
I cleaned my room like I was already leaving.  Maybe I am.
I looked up bridges in Paris, because I need to build a thousand bridges and get over them.
I listened to I Can't Make You Love Me for the millionth time and thought about how Ruby asked me to post a cover and I did.  I took it off.
I drank too much water before bed because I know if I wake up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, my dreams will be over sooner.
I wrote this. 
I wrote this for Mr. Nelson, because I never needed a reason to live until this year.
I wrote this for a boy that may think I have moved on.  Two years is a long time for loving someone who doesn't feel the same.
I wrote this for the dead, because it is Memorial Day.  And because if they were to give a title to this school year, it would be 'Remember'.
I wrote this for Alta June and for Heisenburg because I loved you both and wish I knew you better.  I know comments shouldn't mean more to me than the words I wrote for them, but they do. 
I wrote this for Joshua James and for Iceland. 
I wrote this for Simran, for India.  For the shoes I bought for graduation because my mom talked me into them.
I wrote this for the kids who are going to miss high school,
and for the ones who couldn't be more ready.
I wrote this for me. 
Because I'm not ready to face the real world.
I don't want to be married in my early twenties.
I don't want to be a stay at home mom,
or a steady member of a religion. 
I don't want to be something that can be found behind a desk or in the same house after fifteen years.
I don't want to watch 500 Days of Summer and cry because I can hardly relate to anyone more than Tom.
I don't want to hear Raoul say 'chocolates'.
I don't want to say goodbye.
Dear God, how I don't want to say goodbye.
To you.
To you.
To you.
I'm done with the hallways and with the traffic jams.
I'm done with inspirational quotes or 'reaching our peaks'.
I'm done with ceramic projects and teachers that could care less (except for you, Nelson).
I'm done fighting my own eyes from searching the halls for a familiar face.
Those things I can say goodbye to.
But when graduation is over, and you walk out that door, I'd be insane not to think about if I'll ever see you again. 
But cheers to us.
"We did it", if that is something people say.
And maybe you'll live an extraordinary life.
Maybe you will die in a car accident three years from today.
Maybe you'll have five beautiful children,
and a husband who couldn't be happier.
Maybe you'll get divorced.
But that doesn't matter to us now,
because those things haven't happened. 
So the best thing to say to you now, I suppose, is not even something I wrote.
Caution: Never ask me for advice.

"I'd die for you, but I couldn't, and wouldn't live for you." 


In the wise words of one musician: "You see, I thought that I was mighty, but the truth is I'm scared."

I'm scared.

Est. 1997

There are a few things you need to know.

I need you to know that I loved you from every angle,

not just the rearview mirror.

When the lights went out and inspiration sank,

to lie down in the backseat, it was my best possible bed. 

But you and I were two wheels rolling in opposite directions.

The results were skid marks on my heart.

When Frances Senska was asked for an artist statement,

she wrote, “I make pots.”

Because is life ever as complicated as a sentence?

Now the year is over and we are the

semi truck with the word ‘diamond’ plastered on the side,

because even though we don’t look like much,

we’ve got some sort of value to offer the world.

And the truth is,

I don’t want to wake up some mornings.

Then again, maybe I do because

dreams seem to be better when they end.

We really can’t delude ourselves any further

Because soon, the way that you packed up your notes

will be a formula for how to pick up the pieces

And the hallways an algorithm 

that taught you how to dodge. 

Life after this is singing and not knowing the words,

so when you pull off the formalities and clothe

the impossibilities, there really is no truer way

Of telling you my artist statement then saying

“I’m here, aren’t I?” 

There is no better way to say goodbye

to these past few years then by leaving,

because moving on always proves a point.

So, what do you say?

Let’s define human nature

and fake our deaths at least once

 in the next twenty years.

Let’s prove em’ all wrong

by throwing our hearts into the wind

and hoping that they’ll catch. 

Let’s show the world

that although our wrongs were substantial

compared to our rights,

WE need you to know

That mistakes are for learning,

And isn’t that what graduating is for? 

come hear a story

I could tell you a story.

I could tell you a story about abuse and alcohol and defining human nature.  

I could tell you story about UNI, and how depression wasn't a diagnostic, but a lifetime worthy trial.  

I could tell you a story about heartbreak and how it feels when someone besides yourself consumes your life.  It's more often me than anyone.  

I could tell you a story about a class that I've looked forward too since sophomore year when I tried to get it and failed.  Same goes for junior year. 

Because when I walked into that class, I became Simran.  

But I won't tell you any of those stories.

Instead, I'll tell you a story about a graveyard made of trees. 

Down in the roots, you'll see something besides life.  There is always something else to pick up that the eye can't see by itself.  So pull out your microscope and look very closely.   Just...there.  

That's right.  

It's a human heart. 

 

You probably think I am crazy.  Maybe you think I am trying to hard to be creative.  But where a heart beats, things grow. 

High school was something I never meant to outlive.  I thought my roots would die with me and my heart would become one of the millions down underneath the surface; a fertilizer for some of the most beautiful sequoias, aspens and pines.  I meant to be creation and not just sustenance for life above ground.  

You probably think I am crazy.

I wanted high school to be everything my quarterback father had.  Where people knew your name, or where your pictures showed up in the #onesenioryear slide show at the Senior Dinner Dance.  Where not only was high school your kingdom, but your roots.  Because no matter how hard life became after that, you still had your Glory Days to look back on. 

So what happens when life became difficult long before high school?  What if high school wasn't your domain and being popular meant too many people noticing your mistakes?  

High school is the dirt, I've decided.

  

It is messy and hearts are buried beneath it.  From when the boy you loved told you he only ever saw you as friends.  From when your teacher made you feel insignificant or belittled.  From when the kid you passed in the hall ended it.  

High school, though, had to be the foundation.  It had to be everything we had to go through in order to get to where we are.  Granted, I am about as stable as that tree house grandpa built nearly forty years ago, but that doesn't mean I haven't learned.  

I've learned from this class.  From Mr. Nelson that:

"Ugly people get married everyday."

If we don't make the right decisions, he will start, "smashing mirrors."  

"People leave you everyday."  

"Now is the best time to do anything."  

I'm done with this foundation.

I'm too covered in mud, but the wind has blown it out of my eyes.  The hearts in the ground beat for us because they know.  They know that no matter how green their leaves will turn out, we noticed them before they grew.  

#realtalk

   

I Once Went Canoeing

We are fossils, you realize that don't you?
We aren't old, aged or melodramatic.
I guess I thought that we were new and I've found I don't like brand new things.  Shoes are too tight and dresses don't fit over my shoulders like I wish they did.  Hearts are too open and the sand is too soft. 
But the tide always washes in, doesn't it?    Cardiac arrests happen more often than they did fifty years ago.  It's not so much cholesterol as it is heartbreak.  That's something your Cheerios can't fix.  
I thought I was Damien Rice, singing about how love colored me in.  I thought we were fossils in the way we wished to be remembered, not in terms of age.  
Little did I know that you whistled a different tune.  It appears love disfigured you.  Believe me when I say, I would recognize you if I'd never fallen.
And Mr. Nelson, I didn't want to go to the pond behind the school. 
It was too perfect a night and I can't remember every detail though I am sure my brain has it. 

But.
We are fossils, you realize that don't you?
You know what else fossils are? 
History. 
Never to be repeated.  

But I wanted to repeat all my time with you.  Because maybe then, I would have cherished every moment and not have looked forward to a nonexistent future.