r.e.m. is still turning when i walk away (actually literally.)

sometimes i think i'm stuck in that split second between flicking the switch and darkness.

or that infinity before the gas light turns on but after you think it should.

i've heard anticipation is a gift.

and i don't know if the smiths really sound better on vinyl or if the joy of finding my dad's old records is making me light-headed.

i'm living a series of befores, because durings are unremarkable and afters are nostalgic,

and I'm done with nostalgia.

the end of the beginning came and went with the beginning of the middle, and the middle of the middle is nothing to write home about.

until it is, i'll keep the shoeboxes of memories and nameless valentine's cards under the bed.

call me if you could use them.


--erin

(actual albums my dad owns.)