1. Nights out. Red wine, killer beats, staying up way too late. I picture my memories in slow motion, laughing, black and white. I want to dance through the sky, I want to quit existing, I want to tack myself to the music and let it drag me through the night.
2. Blazers and circular sunglasses. Tight pants, mixing textures, nothing matches but everything goes. Spring time is here, all blueyellow light and piles of twigs at the side of road. That first day you feel the sun through your coat makes me fly hopeful through march.
3. Isabel Allende says her grandfather gave her bones. A sense of honour, the ability to stand straight when times are hard. I picture myself, spine straight, always defiant. I stomp through my life with the grace of a lion, storming muscular through turbulence and sadness.
4. A professor tells me my conclusion is gorgeous - poetic, really. But far too long. I like conclusions, free from the structure that encircles the rest of the essay, snapping and cracking itself into winged fullness. Conclusions are for waterfalls and swinging hips, for silky writing and elevation. "Too long for a paper of this length." I pout.
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