I come from fleeting moments,
driving through downtown at 4 am,
when the sky is dark
and the town is quiet.
sleepy, heavy lids,
tired laughter, and sipping airport coffee.
the feeling of excitement and
nervous anxiety,
where your heart beating
is the only thing you can hear.
I come from the powerful feeling
of unity,
a certain carelessness in the way
we would walk and talk and laugh,
as if work and irritating people
were nothing but a discarded memory
of yesterday.
the unique opportunity to see everybody
at their most vulnerable—
messy hair, dark circles, barefoot,
but nevertheless enjoying life.
I come from memories of the mundane sort,
that may seem trivial,
but I hold them close.
memories of elevators, boats, buses,
running fast down the street
because we forgot to put on
black pants.
memories of water—
oceans, showers, pools, hot tubs.
I come from balconies and hotel rooms,
the soft thudding of feet on the carpet,
knocking at doors.
I come from the squished confines
of a mirrored elevator,
awkward laughter and forgotten room keys.
I come from sweet firsts
and bittersweet goodbyes.
the loud roar of cannons,
the sound of our music—
all of our talents coming together,
making a thing of beauty.
I come from salty fries and
the sense of belonging I get
in a big group.
banter, bad jokes, and odd stories.
I come from slight regrets,
but beautiful memories.
I come from saunas,
lightbulbs, and sunburns,
black and white clothes,
and tight shoes.
I come from sweet coffee,
from three types of juice
at breakfast,
and soda mistaken for water.
I come from raucous dancing,
a night of finality,
but finding intense joy in
such finality.
I come from queen sized beds,
sharing rooms with best friends,
the lovely times where you just
relax.
I come from a million stars in the sky
and a million lights on buildings.
I come from the cold night air
and the joking, half-yelled conversations,
the stomping feet,
the listening at doors.
I come from times spent
with my loved ones,
and being intensely happy.