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Spring Break Is Just a Myth

Poetry & Prose | March 23, 2015

I learned today that everyone is just trying to prove their own existence. It’s kind of silly, but you can’t change it so I wouldn’t worry too much. You can post four videos of the same concert on multiple social media platforms if it makes you feel better, or you can lie on your bed with the sun in your eyes until your mom calls wondering why the school called her asking why you haven’t attended classes in two weeks. Do whichever works best, I trust your judgment. But you better figure it out soon, cause I overheard someone say that we’re all gonna be underwater in due time. It won’t be the cool kind of underwater — Atlantis is still only a myth. Just like your spring break. Jesus told me he saw you on the beach, but you weren’t using a camera so you couldn’t really have been there. He taught me how to feel like the sand running through your toes and how not to cry next week when my grandma dies. I thanked him for always being there.

I was trying not to leave a mark of my thoughts but then I got a text asking if everything was okay, saying that you’d seen my handwriting on the library walls, deep in the basement. I felt a little something inside but I did my best to keep it down. It’s that feeling you run away from after long periods of trying to forget it. It’s like when sometimes you’re going the wrong way and there’s a tollbooth but it’s too late to turn around so you’ve got to pay the fare. Those aren’t the best times. But your best friend’s driving and you’ve got Phil Collins bumping so it really could be much worse. You hit the goodwill for some oversized paintings to turn your luck around, maybe even grab yourself a burrito if you’re feeling bold. Stare at that burrito for long enough until it stares back at you. Now we’re really getting somewhere.

I want you to reach my level, to be there telling me my art is terrible. I need some honesty in my life. Let’s get lost walking home, we’ll hide our money in our shoes until we find the farm just over the hill. We can watch news bloopers or world star vine compilations till you fall asleep on my arm and we’ll wake up to the sound of a million bees buzzing cause we forgot to close the window. You’ll bury me under the covers and I’ll disappear like when you leave the butter in the microwave for too long.

But don’t go looking for me. I’m a few towns away by now, floating outside the houses like a young Tom Petty only more romantic. I want to cruise around and make a million friends who can all call me different names. I’m never going home, I decided after they took down the swings in the park outside my house. I didn’t think it was fair of them, with me being in another country and all, but not much is fair if you consider who deserves what. Bugs bit into me tonight at the park so if you see me scratching my ear under the table don’t worry too much. I need some relief from this pain, from this uncontrollable uncomfort that manifests itself inside of me each day. You know when you wake up and realize you can’t wait to sleep again that night? Check your inbox for no messages and you’re still unemployed? You know that point when you can look into someone’s eyes after a long night of talking to her friends? The point when you make them feel wanted and actually feel something? Maybe your arms are touching and it’s just enough to make up for the last three sleepless nights you spent trying to write something meaningful for your school’s literary magazine. That’s what I’m going for, and I haven’t thought of slowing down till I’ve reached that point. Sure it’s gonna take a lot of pushups and silent sober meditation, but that’s all part of the plan. It’s either that or I wake up every morning later than the day before, wondering why I never took the chance.