new doorways

i walked to yr still
& i drank my fill.

i put on the right song, sleepy mournful slow, and suddenly this place felt like home, taking away all my frantic urges to unpack and rearrange. somehow if the tune in the air sounds right, my body relaxes down into itself, and everything else falls into place.

our new place is strange and grimy and damp; it needs some fresh air and bright colors and love. but i think if we fill it with bikes and books and more jars of spices than we can ever use, if we pound some longevity into it with our dancing feet, i think it might taste like home for a while.

lately i'm getting dizzy again when i try and look at the view, reaching points past which i can't project myself. someone asked me why i'm coming back to chicago after vienna, next winter when i'm done with school and this midwestern city will be dark and frozen and lonely, and my usual answer of "i like chicago" didn't seem quite to suffice. i've never been in a place for this achingly long. i can't remember if i want somewhere else more. i'm scared to give it too much of my life and my heart, because then what will i do when i leave? (the assumption that i will leave is what makes it comforting and frightening both.)

in any case, once we can walk through our halls without tripping over boxes and upturned chairs, once we adjust to ourselves and each other, it's going to be wonderful to come home to this place at night.

his skin is gold from the whiskey in his blood.