Falling in love. How painful and sweet and all consuming it is. How it clouds your vision and makes all other things seem brighter yet less important at the same time. I remember running around New York after you had gone to RIT after the summer and feeling more ON, more alive and capable - like able to learn and memorize a whole movement of Elgar in one week - but at the same time less interested in practicing. I had to do everything faster and more efficiently so I could get back to Being in Love.
|Us in New York City the summer they met.|
My mother was so sentimental in her choices of music, literature and films (Gone with the Wind? Vaughan Williams? To Kill a Mockingbird?) but so averse to overt expressions of sentiment in her day to day life, half-smiling while she half-hugged me off to college.
Brings me to tears just writing that shit.
Off to the store to get some chicken boobs for dinner.