Saturday, December 27, 2008

Spirals and Capitals: Like the Twist of a Script

moving forward by ian rica roxas

to someone who always understood my jokes,

how silly and new we were as freshmen year roommates. listening to those 80s songs on our computers. our hammock and Siamese fighting fish, bivens. our window that was a shortcut to the walkway and that terribly ridiculous picture of us with side ponytails. you helped me hide in closets from boys. you always came with me to eat quesadillas. you were a wonderful roommate.

I remember the following year I would start painting and fall in love and make new friends and I would miss laughing with you. and that the following summer, though our lives so separate, you would let me stay in your room since I had none and we would talk through books in that group at the church. you would, also, give me a ride to the airport, on my way to texas and to see the boy i loved so much. I remember you had me listen to your favorite rhett miller song, "am i gonna be lonely for the rest of my life". and as those words spilled from the speakers, i was so full and so in love, and your life seemingly so different, i couldn't even hear them or relate.

And, oh, had I known. that god has a strange sense of humor like my father. or it is more as josh ritter sings, that he is a drunkard for pain. perhaps i would have known that 6 months later that boy would leave me and i would fall apart. that then we would begin performing songs together, and you would help me play those very love songs i had written for him. and i would have known that you would become as happy as i was, and maybe far more so. that you would begin to date that same boy. that you would then be the one who flew across across the country to see him. that i would begin avoiding all those weddings of our friends where he and you would be together. that, eventually, one of those weddings, would be yours, and his.

I know we all change. I know we rarely can choose who we love. I know you will love him very well. I am not angry.

And as I drive towards the mountains through a wordless world the day after Christmas, I am still full as I once was, and maybe more so now. of memories of you. memories of him. of a bittersweet sense of irony and imagining my life better because of you both.
your roommate,
ashley

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