It is a Perfectly Beautiful Day

And I am crying on a swing.

There’s a party going on, somewhere, I can hear the music from here and I was invited and I did not go.

I am swinging and crying,

and I think to myself how lovely it is to decide not to do something. How human it is to cry when the weather is so nice and I have nothing to cry about.

It is a perfectly beautiful day and my friend went home for the weekend yesterday and we got into an argument right before that because I said something and then he said something and we said something

hurtful.

You know how it goes and

it’s a perfectly beautiful day and I am crying because

we haven’t made up yet, the wound is still too fresh and I think it’s a good thing he went home for the weekend because part of me wants to punch him in the jaw and part of me wants to apologize and cry on his shoulder for the next three days

You know how it goes.

I am sitting on a swing, crying and I think Isn’t it so nice to know someone well enough to hurt them. Isn’t it so wonderful to love someone so much you can be angry with them because the last time a friend and I said something

hurtful

I wasn’t angry. I was crying on a bench because I knew that we were not friends anymore. Sometimes I still think about them on my birthday. It was my birthday a few days ago and I had a dinner with some of my dearest friends and maybe, for a moment,

I was bothered by the ones that couldn’t come but then I think to myself isn’t it wonderful to be able to say it was only some of my friends and

it was a perfectly beautiful day.

I am crying because last night I was sitting on the couch where I always sit and the seat beside me is empty because my friend went home for the weekend, and he always sits there and I am still so angry and yet everytime I look at that seat something somewhere aches and I can’t help but to think it is so nice to miss someone so quickly. it’s so nice to miss someone even when you don’t want them there. I hope that sometimes something makes them miss me too.

Today is a perfectly beautiful day and my jeans are covered in pollen from the flowers I have been picking, and my head is too full of poetry and I am crying a bit too loudly and I think I am in love with someone, with too many people I have too much love to give and I feel everything just a little too strongly, and aren’t these such wonderful problems to have?

My friend comes back on Sunday and as angry as I am something somewhere aches because I know that soon, I will be sitting on a sofa and all the seats will be full. It is the sweet start of spring, and the flowers are all starting to bloom and for just a moment nothing will ache. Someone’s hand is in my hair and I think I could die here. If I found out that the world was ending tomorrow, I would want to make dinner with some of my dearest friends to look at them and say

Wasn’t that wonderful?

I’m sorry that it’s over

This was such a

beautiful

day.