melted

nostalgia analogous for advanced placement united states history

i'm sitting at home in my living room eating tortellini with sriracha sauce, as per usual. cue you, somewhere. doing something. i am not in control of you and sometimes (most times) when it comes to you it feels as if i am not in control of my mind either. i fall asleep and wake up and you remain, persistent, a shadow. if only it were that easy.

you don't use your annotations to study for history tests. you do them for the credit and nothing else, you imply. thank goodness, your handwriting is illegible. when you resign yourself to scratching lines for zero gain, where do you pick up the slack? do you enjoy anything in your life? i watch you on stage and you are emotionless. my comprehension of your composure is minimal at best and nonexistent on a good day. cue me, flipping through the pages of your libretto, smiling at the actors, gasping as the time signature shifts. every little detail catches my eye and leaves me breathless. you are unnerved, used to the story. it passes you by without a thought. i'll ask later if you even really enjoy what you do, and when it takes you a moment to wonder, what runs through your head? your disposition is the stagnant water in a swamp, your demeanor could be equally conveyed by a lawn chair, your distance is more tangible than you are.

you don't want to stick around. you do what must be done and nothing more. for someone who is viewed as so intelligent and ahead of the curve, the bare minimum seems too much like enough. thank goodness i'm not the only one who slacks off. but when you act like nothing is worthwhile, do you ever feel happy? do you smile for no reason other than because you can? cue me, glaring until you wiggle your fingers at the basketball hoop, dancing to warmup music as everyone watches. every single second holds its precious presence with me alongside it, captivated. you are boring, not quite bored but not invested. time ticks by and you are the culprit, innocent bystander. i'll ask later why you didn't leave when you had the chance, but when you respond by shutting down any possibility of an answer, what is my mind supposed to do? your words are concise unlike mine, your thoughts are complete unlike mine, your actions are completely restricted by this view of yourself you have in your head, unlike me.

i love these games. i love listening to my band blast their way through halftime, i love watching the girls shoot free throws in hopeful silence, i love waiting for the bell to ring and signal our triumphant victory. i have always been good at thanking people as they leave, satisfied. i hate these games. i hate listening to you dig into my every statement with a sharpened spade, i hate watching you gloom your way across the stage, i hate waiting for a reaction and being met with cold stares. i have never been good alone. when you leave after hours of this back-and-forth, why is it that i smile instead of sigh?

you and i make no sense to each other. cue me, loud, brash, energetic. willing to cause a scene, ready to make a commotion. easily excitable. joyous to a fault. cue you, reserved, soft-spoken, stoic. unwilling to push the closest of boundaries, ready to abandon at a moment's motive. easily overlooked. prestigious to a fault. i look up at you without even thinking, but when you look down, is it condescending or natural? i want to learn how to evade your vernacular traps, i want to get you to smile more. i want to show you how beautiful the world can be if you give it a chance.

i want you to want it too.