Writing

I hate that I'll forget all the details of the past few days, the past few months, the last few years, my life. They'll slip through my fingers. I wish I could pluck every beautiful, heartbroken, angry, wonderful moment like a jewel and put it in a box. I wish I could bottle the feeling of sitting by this gem of a river, this city filled with sparkling lights, under this fading blue sky. Music pounding through my ears, my skirt flared out around me, boots scuffed, my pen scribbling. 

I want to drink that potion later. I love, love that I can be sitting on my couch, watching One Tree Hill, and begin to feel restlessness, disappointment. That I can feel those things and then immediately get on my bike and fly down the street and leave that girl behind on the couch. That in a few seconds, I can become this woman who has frizzy hair flying behind her, a bright yellow skirt falling around her bike seat, cutting in front of cars and racing to make it through yellow lights. I have the ability to give myself wings and I hope I never forget that, at the very least. 

August 2012

by Brittany Chavez