Lia and Dawn
I don't know where to start, or how.
I guess I don't know what's going to happen to Lia first of all. For the next few weeks, Lia has nowhere to go but around and about, through the cracks of the cold stone buildings, finding refuge on some generous friend's couch. Maybe she might go see a movie or two. But she doesn't know what's gonna happen, for now, for later, for the rest of her life. Lia's taking a leave of absence for the semester to pause, take a breath, and change. So why do I see such finality?
Dawn is just as lost. But she's not lost out here. Out here, she's the queen. Queen of 1912, of the torchlights that guide the way, queen of expectations for what's going to happen. But inside, in that body and mind and soul of hers, there's no knowing, no direction. She's gotta keep going, but that's just her physical. She can walk ten miles a day, but she'll still get nowhere in that head of hers.
But beyond not knowing anything, I get the feeling that there's less and less of a connectedness. Dawn and Lia are far away now, breathing in some different kind of air that turns our brains funny, and different. I can hear them taking loudly, chirping in their sweet, inebriated little voices little sounds that create just extra, additive noise to the constant drumming of the student body, mind and soul. They deny their alcoholism, and so do I.
I cannot fathom the lives we'll be living some day. At some point, I can see us all in our early graves, some tragic misfortune. I can't see being friends with either Lia or Dawn, because I can see this depression already spreading virally through us, dividing us. As if we've split from one highway to the next, I get to watch them below, above, around, as I drive off, alone, alone, alone, alone.
I guess I don't know what's going to happen to Lia first of all. For the next few weeks, Lia has nowhere to go but around and about, through the cracks of the cold stone buildings, finding refuge on some generous friend's couch. Maybe she might go see a movie or two. But she doesn't know what's gonna happen, for now, for later, for the rest of her life. Lia's taking a leave of absence for the semester to pause, take a breath, and change. So why do I see such finality?
Dawn is just as lost. But she's not lost out here. Out here, she's the queen. Queen of 1912, of the torchlights that guide the way, queen of expectations for what's going to happen. But inside, in that body and mind and soul of hers, there's no knowing, no direction. She's gotta keep going, but that's just her physical. She can walk ten miles a day, but she'll still get nowhere in that head of hers.
But beyond not knowing anything, I get the feeling that there's less and less of a connectedness. Dawn and Lia are far away now, breathing in some different kind of air that turns our brains funny, and different. I can hear them taking loudly, chirping in their sweet, inebriated little voices little sounds that create just extra, additive noise to the constant drumming of the student body, mind and soul. They deny their alcoholism, and so do I.
I cannot fathom the lives we'll be living some day. At some point, I can see us all in our early graves, some tragic misfortune. I can't see being friends with either Lia or Dawn, because I can see this depression already spreading virally through us, dividing us. As if we've split from one highway to the next, I get to watch them below, above, around, as I drive off, alone, alone, alone, alone.
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