In Which a Break Cannot Be Caught in Various Endearments

I have these moments where I'll browse memories, and then all of a sudden, I'll think I'm living in the days I've been thinking about. I thought it was late autumn during my senior year of high school. I needed to wake up at 4:26, I needed to be in the pool at 4:59 (I have this thing about inexact times), I hadn't called or even thought of calling Aaron, I hadn't been listening for mom to fall asleep, I hadn't started playing my casual cover-up music. And then, senior year of college, just out of the shower, Willow on the couch, Waldo curling up on my shins and probably eyeing my toes because they wiggle without my consent, Andrew Bird's "Danse Caribe" playing just quietly enough, everything blurry from the window view, multiple lamps lit because Josh passionately insists that overhead lighting is tacky and forbids it in the common areas besides the bathroom, everything looking golden and champagne-glossed. But some of the younger things have stuck. I want to listen to "Brick" the way I did every morning on the way to swim practice, the song perfect for the dark and exhaustion. April. I fucking miss April. Cats are dumb, except when they're not. Nights of Aaron and Yann Tiersen's Amelie score. Sweetness and sorrow and melodrama. And the inexplicable thought of lips.