I'm living in a state of ambiguity -- that greasy, messed-up, newborn state of being.
Unlike my first semester, I brought some unfinished business from home, a few loose ends so to speak, with me to New York. Frayed ends of a friendship I had damaged over winter break. Something I desperately wanted to fix but knew I couldn't at the present time. Because we were so far apart, because neither of us really knew how to. But are we really broken? He was never good at making up his mind, but I know we're not broken. Because it's me, and it's him, and together we've always come out okay. But I suppose only summer can pass judgement.
It's been a mindblowing semester. Experiencing so much and the nights I stay up feverishly writing papers and flipping through textbooks are worth it.
Music festivals, museum trips, childish snowball fights, bar crawls, and even those chill nights with my girls. These are the times I lived and died for.
Last semester, I learned how to make the friends who would stay by my side. This semester, I've encountered new kinds of friends.
Like that guy from that night.
Because when you wake up in the morning, the only things that can testify to those twilight hours you spent with him are a few frayed text conversations and heap of ripped fabric on the bedroom floor that used to be your favorite skirt. (Which I only recently conceded was beyond repair and finally chucked into the trash.)
But that's okay, because I began the night knowing that. He was perfect. Just not perfect for me. But we're still friends. Friends whose lives crossed for that one night. A kind of friend I'm not used to but still happy to accept. Damn, I really do get a kick out of ambiguity.
This week, a group of friends and I decided we're roadtripping to Washington, DC next weekend. Completely spontaneous, completely unlike anything I would've done a year ago. And I can't wait.
More memories. More vibes and good times.
I'm sure I learned a lesson somewhere in all this... Oh, here it is:
I will never again ask for a perfect ending.
Some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. For the first time in my life, I'm okay with loose ends. I'm content if not everything in my life has a smooth finish.
Because I think this is all about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it.
Thriving in that delicious ambiguity.
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
