Succint May Memory

Memory:
Early May, pretending the tentative spring evening is undiluted summer, I put on paint stained cut-offs and started my last art project of college. I'd delayed, not out a lack of desire, but wishing to create something conclusive, important, to capture these fleeting moments whose worth I was suddenly fervently aware of. I spread out on the deck, and though it was too cold and my mess of tissue paper and photo scraps not conducive to the wind, this succinct moment is preserved with great care. I think I was nostalgic even as it was occurring.

My roomie and dear friend Elliot was reading in the chair, bundled in the blanket I identify with him and sipping tea, probably English Breakfast. We pulled a lamp out, and it was as though we created a cozy living room under the stars. Heady with a youthful hubris of our own creative spontaneity. The lilac was just starting to bloom. I would pick flowers and leave these offerings in their rooms much like my mom did for me- oh how obvious our learning pattern of how we show our love.

This evening was so COLLEGE, so ardent and urgent and fleeting; this home we so earnestly created and dissembled. These minutes so soon to be eclipsed by night chill, obligations, hopping on my bike to rush to the darkroom- a moment gone, but whose existence is more significant than its passing.

I don't know why that came to me so clearly right now. Perhaps because I long for a sense of belonging or creativity. I am so damn anonymous these days. We huddle our sense of self in our activities, in what others know us for, in what we do. So of course learning the more grounded facets of ourselves will be a lonely business. I know in my bones I will long for this transience as soon as I return.