There are patterns I must follow

(All photos by me. Wearing a shirt from H&M, necklace from Claire's, my mom's 80's earrings, and my dad's 80's sunglasses)









A little fella I rescued in the pool:

My favorite part of the day is sundown.

When my little cat jumps on the window still to bide the sun goodbye. When the hazy, brilliant lights seeps through my curtains, staining my walls with golden pools. When I watch suburban cars arrive home from work, and when people walk their dogs. When I rehearse monologues and dialogues in my head, playing out scenes from the day.

I am content, relaxed; sprawled on my back as I sink below the encroaching night and escape the disappearing golden rays.

I achieve complete serenity for a while.
For a while.

Whatever romantic song that suits my fancy turns ‘round and ‘round on the turntable, spinning my emotions and tangling my heart.

“As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me”

Softly.

There.

Above me, the ceiling my dad and I painted when I was younger; an artificial blue sky complete with brushstrokes of billowing clouds.

Below me, the eggshell carpet that my parents picked out.

Around me, cluttered posters of obscure bands, movies, pictures, paintings, poetry; ripped from magazines, stolen from lampposts outside of concert halls.

My home. My space.

I remember reading an article once in a scientific magazine. It said that people stop smelling scents after a while, and become accustomed to the aroma around them. An evolutionary trait left over from our primate ancestors.
It gave the analogy of a bunny hiding from predators in a flower bush. At first, the bunny can smell the flowers, but after a short while it stops smelling it to catch the scent of approaching foxes.
The smell does not disappear, the bunny just stops smelling the flowers in order to react to the threat of danger.

It made me think about how maybe our eyes perform the same trick. After a while, we stop seeing the things that are right in front of us. We overgrow the sights around us.
They don’t stop existing, we just stop seeing them.

I’m grown accustomed to my room, my house, my town, I’ve lost the ability to gaze around me with virgin eyes.

Perhaps when I return here, after growing accustomed to my college dorm, I will be able to re-smell the flower bush where I once hid before fleeing from foxes.
And I can gaze at the artifacts with fresh eyes; a eulogy of someone who once existed here, someone who once occupied this space.

But for now, I am just a girl lying on her back, listening to records from a time different than her own and wishing for a change of scenery.