(no subject)
Apr. 10th, 2024 01:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nowiammyselfSoon this will all be a memory and there is so much that I have already forgotten. Me voy olvidando de todo.
I am sitting on my balcony and I noticed for the first time that I have a view of a fountain two blocks down, across the avenida, on the vial. It's a rectangular shape and water cascades down, a translucent wall. In the light blue clouds as the sun sets I see cars traveling down the avenue, hear their faint rumble, and I see pedestrians walking past the fountain down the vial.
I hear people speaking Spanish in the park. Today my roommate and I talked about how much we aren't looking forward to hearing men with American accents. There is a small park behind my house - not so much a park, but I don't know what else to call it. The paths are orange-brown dirt. There are benches, and on one of those concrete benches I made out with someone, shoved my tongue into his mouth as he shoved his tongue into mine under the orange street lights past midnight. We peed on the same palm tree behind the bench. I never saw him again.
Apartment buildings composed of concrete and brick. A concrete grid filled in with light orange brick. Metal balcony railing, pine green awning, plants cascading down, ropa colgando. Spanish conversation drifts out a window from across the street. I hear birds and bugs chirping. The tile is orange and rectangular. I am sitting on two patio chairs stacked together, on a weather worn, dirty mat. There's a metal table frame supporting a glass top across from me, and on top are my plants - albahaca and menta and hierda and romera and flores. The sun is setting behind me, clouds golden as the sun sinks beneath the mountains.
I am afraid of how fast time has gone here. I spent so much time wanting it to move faster, wanting everything to be different, wanting it to be over - or at least for the bad to be over - and now I feel like the end is here in front of me, and I am so scared that I have wasted every opportunity, and I am afraid of wasting more opportunities. I am afraid of forgetting and of not appreciating the beauty that I have before me. I am afraid of sitting in my room, of taking a siesta, of looking at my phone instead of exploring new nooks and crannies, instead of noticing how I can see across the vial, across the avenues, to the other side of the town, and that I will forget the layers and layers of buildings I see there yonder, the white walls and yellow facades, the mess of metal and concrete, the green of the trees now thriving in the warm April air.
I am afraid of it ending and now I'm afraid of going back.
I am sitting on my balcony and I noticed for the first time that I have a view of a fountain two blocks down, across the avenida, on the vial. It's a rectangular shape and water cascades down, a translucent wall. In the light blue clouds as the sun sets I see cars traveling down the avenue, hear their faint rumble, and I see pedestrians walking past the fountain down the vial.
I hear people speaking Spanish in the park. Today my roommate and I talked about how much we aren't looking forward to hearing men with American accents. There is a small park behind my house - not so much a park, but I don't know what else to call it. The paths are orange-brown dirt. There are benches, and on one of those concrete benches I made out with someone, shoved my tongue into his mouth as he shoved his tongue into mine under the orange street lights past midnight. We peed on the same palm tree behind the bench. I never saw him again.
Apartment buildings composed of concrete and brick. A concrete grid filled in with light orange brick. Metal balcony railing, pine green awning, plants cascading down, ropa colgando. Spanish conversation drifts out a window from across the street. I hear birds and bugs chirping. The tile is orange and rectangular. I am sitting on two patio chairs stacked together, on a weather worn, dirty mat. There's a metal table frame supporting a glass top across from me, and on top are my plants - albahaca and menta and hierda and romera and flores. The sun is setting behind me, clouds golden as the sun sinks beneath the mountains.
I am afraid of how fast time has gone here. I spent so much time wanting it to move faster, wanting everything to be different, wanting it to be over - or at least for the bad to be over - and now I feel like the end is here in front of me, and I am so scared that I have wasted every opportunity, and I am afraid of wasting more opportunities. I am afraid of forgetting and of not appreciating the beauty that I have before me. I am afraid of sitting in my room, of taking a siesta, of looking at my phone instead of exploring new nooks and crannies, instead of noticing how I can see across the vial, across the avenues, to the other side of the town, and that I will forget the layers and layers of buildings I see there yonder, the white walls and yellow facades, the mess of metal and concrete, the green of the trees now thriving in the warm April air.
I am afraid of it ending and now I'm afraid of going back.
