Lit.Lit.Lit.

For some reason, I always write in the airport. I'm sitting, thinking, typing, the rhythmic clatter of my keyboard is uneven, there are slight pauses, shortly followed by frequent, high paced clicks. The words are uneasy. The words are heavy. These words are mine. Every single letter, every single space; the words they are uneasy, the words they are heavy, the words, goddamnit, these words, they are mine.

A few nights ago my friend and I were discussing the lacking simplicity in life. Things have been complicated with age, with time, with the numeric progression of the two to the three, the three to the four and so on. We cannot help this, the creases under our eyes, the loss of innocence, the grave misconceptions and injustices of the world, the beauty we see everyday but have become blind to. We must sit back and accept this progressing without a fight. We put down our fist, we do not have control.

Yet, as we both sit, we crave this simplicity, we build the nostalgia, we recreate the past into something natural and true. We sip our cheap wine out of mugs. Mine reads, "Put the fun back in dysfunction." There is a middle aged white woman in black with wide, terrified eyes staring at me as I sip. My friend's mugs, hers is much more peaceful, a soft yellow with the etching of a tree hugs the circular surface.

I sit up, the hottub producing an opaque steam against the skin piercing December air. Out of nowhere, against the splashing of the jets she says, "Don't you realize we used to worry about the hot dog machine? Don't you remember smoking pot out of an apple because our boss yelled at us for not scrubbing the floor? Don't you realize we used to get stressed about waffle cones?! Everything was so simple."

"Think about it", and she says, very slowly, "Waffle. Cones."

I pause. My eyes look up, the clouds are covering everything but the full moon. I can see the silhouettes of bushes that our suburban landscaped backyard produces.

"You burnt your lip with that apple! I fell in the bathtub roaring with laughter. I hated Kathy. She was such a bitch."

She erupts in a fit of giggles, as she takes a moment to sip her wine.

I think about the times we spent surrounded by darkness staring up at the sky laying on the grass. With no lights from the city, the stars shone with a fierce intensity I didn't know was possible. They blinked and in turn, taunted our small existence. They punched my ego, as if to say, "Hey, you're not that big! Check yourself!"

She looks down at her mug, "I wish things were that simple still," she mutters quietly as she swirls remainder the cheap red wine.

There's a long pause.

I set down my cup, the woman on the front, taunts me, "Put the fun back in dysfunction! Go ahead, do it! Give it a try!"

I look at my friend, and say, "Things will never be that simple."

The wine bottle is empty and we look at one another and begin to laugh.

I immediately start to think, "Fuck, if we were in a movie, this would be the closing scene and our laughter would fade and The Walkmen We've Been Had would play."

Hey ego, you're not that big, Check yourself! The words are uneasy. The words are heavy. These words are mine. Every single letter, every single space; the words they are uneasy, the words they are heavy, the words, goddamnit, these words, they are mine.