The Weekenders

The weekends are for the lucky souls who know how to take advantage of those precious seventy two hours, how to maximize their output from life. They're risk-takers, rule-breakers, and boat-rockers who are as focused as they are frivolous, capable as they are capricious. In the whirlwind of life they swirl along at the ready--No, in fact, they're the storm. The love freely, choose certainly, and speak loudly, with conviction. The bookshelves of their bones are racked heavily with experience, yet none of it weighs them down.

I, on the other hand, am placid water. I let time run through me, soundly. Idly doodling at my window, I'll wonder why my homework's not done yet, why the sun shines so vividly, as if it has something to prove. I will plan little plans that never get executed and they sit in little piles of shredded paper as noon turns to sundown and time flushes through me again.

This morning the birds chirped soundlessly and I woke up to my lamp-light in a drowse of "What time is it?" Diana was next door and we took some pictures, of simple clothing for simply boiling weather. The heat is rigid and white-hot, one last Hurrah for the summer to make before the curtain call. An explosion of "Here is What I can do;" it does have something to prove.

 

 

All Photographs by Diana Liu

Love,

Jenn