Look Up

Waiting for the Max underground a deep wind begins to build and chill us all, remniscent of the eerieness of dementors. The train shoots through the dark tunnel and I'm riding backwards, seeing what I've missed. Take me to the riot. Let a stranger transform. Let me stay.

I've said Portland would always be home. The sidewalks and the sky, even the pidgeons and burrito stands hold some sense of familiarity. Will I ever wake up in this town and feel there's nothing else for me here? Since you've been gone I am less interested in places I pass and people I see. I'm not sure why exactly that is.

Could I ever feel home again? Honestly?

The strangers who used to feel like soulmates are now just smiles looking past me. I see a ladder leaned against a bare ceiling and feel as if I've climbed it. People are just people, they shouldn't make you nervous. Has this city changed or have I? I see a boy soaring down the street in a wheelchair less than two blocks away from where I met him and didn't like him, at least six months ago.

It doesn't feel like home anymore.

Places I've been are vaguely familiar amongst change and new doorsteps. What has everyone been doing while I've been gone?

A nice girl in Backspace says she likes my shirt and doesn't judge me when I tell her it's just from Urban. Could we be friends beyond admiring each other's styes? Not that I'm planning on it. I'm just considering the possibilities. Anyway, I respect that she probably has reasons for her tattoos, but I don't understand them as of now.

How did I become so detached? Realization exhausts me a little.

Lauren, where did you go? I expect to see you in these places you'd like and feel comfortable in. Are you re-reading Harry Potter again? Come outside with me. I need to feel you.

Remembering her smile, and the nuclear bomb, and the reasons I loved her. I'm walking through Central Park; I'm in a foreign country, and I'm waiting for a sign. It's a hot summer day and I have goosebumps because I'm listening to "Begin" and looking up at the sky. Is that you? There's a girl sitting in the bench diagonally across from me. Is she wearing heavy boots? God, I used to be so in love with the world. How could the abscence of one person make me feel so alone and disillusioned?

A homeless lady passes in front of me, looks at the ground, and rolls right along. The girl has left. "The city's changing, because we are changing. We are all in this together." Don't forget. Can everyone see how I need them? I need their eyes locked to mine, our shoulders brushing, our worlds colliding.

When I leave, will I come back here; will everything be as I left it?

I saw you crying; I started crying
because we're all in this together.

I want to believe.

But I read with every broken heart we should become more adventurous. If I knew where I was supposed to be, I would go there. I would sacrifice money and heaven for love. But I would rather it found me.

I feel a faint sense of comfort when I am taking a picture of the graffitied wall across the street and a taxi driver slows down so as to avoid getting in the way. For the first time today I look directly into someone's eyes. Even the slightest comfort can be dire in moods like the one I am in. Sitting in a park of bricks, I get a paper cut, and everyone around me seems to be on drugs. I could be standing outside a broken telephone booth with money in my hand.

Walk from Chinatown to the Pearl District to downtown Portland. Where have I gone?

On the train home a woman is reading a book called something like "The Terrible Things Men Do." Did someone hurt her or is she afraid or is it something else? The Max is filled with tired-looking people and I wonder if I've got anything to give but questions which, quite honestly, I do not know if I want the answers to.

If anyone has tried to talk to me, I haven't noticed. I've been trying to stop listening to music that makes me sad, but every song is about love and I can't help but feel melancholy.

What now, kid?
Which way, love?

posted by Allison Francis @ 6:15 PM