Memories can become blurry, over time,
like underdeveloped photographs,
or incomplete, like sunlight through blinds.

Our lives move ever forward,
like the inflexible patterns of stars.

Once fevered and immediate events
recede, with frightening, doppler effect,
as remembered yesterdays,
become forgotten yesterdays.

New Haven was abuzz. The hotels were booked and moving trucks had taken every free parking space for miles. Last Sunday was freshmen move-in day and 1,554 freshmen moved into their Yale residences. It’s one of our favorite days of the year. The hubbub of freshmen moving, lunching, shopping and later, seeing off their departing parents, created a delicious emotional chaos that we watched unfold, like a Greek chorus.

The movie ‘Love Actually’ begins and ends with montages of people greeting friends, family and loved ones at Heathrow airport - it’s emotional and heartwarming. Move-in days are a lot like that - with their gordian knots of beginnings and endings. My parents were nervous and emotional on my freshman move-in day - as was I - but we all tried, desperately, not to show it.

Welcome to New Haven freshmen, everything’s beautiful, but you’ll get too busy to enjoy it much.

We upperclassmen move in tomorrow.

five o'clock on Sunday night
we down two bottles of pink ******* wine - classy
Jesus Christ applauds our dedication to his
"this do in remembrance of me" mentality

after four ******* hours of straight communion
we are one with the universe
praying only for security in something
“don't judge me,” she says “don't judge me,”
we've reached that point

we found ecstasy in dizziness - in daydreams
sure enough, we found there was
some kind of magic quality
inherent in these substances
that we were guaranteed to abuse

but it seems we must have been
the worst of marksmen
because I know we matched each other
shot for shot that night
and never once made contact
**** that

we went from being worshiped to ignored -
untouchable
like the ******* gimps of the Hindu caste system
**** Karma
what did we do to be so low?
it didn't make good sense
so we just kept drinking
because that's the only thing that did

We were
People of another caliber
Not so
Concerned with things like college algebra
Still we
Had to pass our finals so we’d
Meet up
For about an hour to study
But when I got to your place
It was the look on your face
The only question I got to
Was

Where should I put
My hands on you
Where should I put
My hands on you

We went
Out to grab a cup of coffee
And we
Talked about our thoughts on philosophy
I was
Partial to more modern theory
But you
Still seemed to be hung up on Socrates
But as you waved your arms around
Your point was proven and I found
I ought to ask you what to do
So

Where should I put
My hands on you
Where should I put
My hands on you

Saturday mornings growing up
my mother made me clean the bathroom

. windex . bleach
. scrub brush . rags
. mop . bucket . broom . dustpan
. lots of paper towels

she insisted I clean the bathroom
every Saturday morning
before I did anything else
with absolutely no chance of an allowance
she paid me plenty she said

. shelter . food . clothing
. television . internet . video games
. books . some sort of education

not to mention

. life

“do it because you love me”

so waking up Saturday
meant cleaning the bathroom

it meant my hands reeked of chemicals
while my friends enjoyed games I couldn't join
it meant I missed the best of all
the cartoons everyone else watched
it meant I didn’t feel like loving my mother

for years I begrudgingly

. scrubbed . wiped . cleaned

that bathroom
until it sparkled - until it shined
like the top of the Chrysler building

. sink . mirror
. toilet . tub
. floor

all of it spotless
love you mom

then in college
there's this woman that I'm living with
this woman that provides me with

. shelter . food . clothing
. television . internet . etc.

and she makes me feel alive
so I clean her bathroom
and when she asks me, “why?”
all I can think to say is

“I did it because I love you”

and it feels like that's the truth

Oh I think it was a Tuesday
You were sleeping
In almost the highest spot in the building
Your ghosts never disturbing
The seams of your dreams
Oh what a day to ignore the mourning

I awake since Monday
Stitch my jeans for they keep
Falling apart by the knees
I try to hide the pink and purples
Of each thing pretend I don’t need

Then out of something I can’t dream
I see this red all around me
maybe I should gather my things
But instead I throw them out on the street

I burn in the building
Just to slip out of sighting you
So I start to
Transform in my dorm
Catch the flame and let it
Cool me
Oh how I used to be boiling
Steaming I see the leaves and grass
Oh I think you would call this crass

Now you are just so worried
That all this ash might
Color your back
So you speak your to forest of agrees
Until you see the fire of me

I so welted so red
So sore so losing
So much breath
I think you cheated
But you just took the steps

So I let the piece of me be last
thing you feel of me
I make you choke
then you speak
About how I
Hurt you

But somewhere
maybe a kitchen maybe the stairs
There were pages written by you
Pilled up but there’s only one
You wrote it mostly for fun

See it was so late
So late
That I would calll it Mourning
you were writing
By the light of the candle
Because electricity is just so boring

So at 4:49am on Tuesday
Maybe morning
You
Left the stair
Left the light and the pages there
Then when to sleep
Without a single worry

The fire is far away
Not far enough to not see the flames
But far enough to not be afraid
Far enough to evacuate
Far enough to see the damage
But not experience the damage
Its getting warmer
But no need to panic
I live here
I watch the fire everyday
It inches closer but still I stay
I can’t leave yet
I have to much going for me here
I can’t leave yet
My friends haven’t left yet
I can’t leave yet
It’s not my time
It will be soon
And then I will leave
The fire won’t reach me
Hopefully
I want to leave
I hope it all burns down
And I get to watch and laugh

She:
  Do you feel life? Or do you live life?
he:
Do you fear death? Or do you live death?
She:
  I fear death. I do not live it.
he:
What you fear is what you live.
She: (few hours later)
  Why he compares life to death?
   Is he dead already?




then I unbosom few days later He is actually full of life much more like Happy Endings

Loss of Motivation. Check.
2. Procrastinating. Check.
3. Lowering Grades. Check.
4. Health Problems. Check.
5. Exhaustion/Lack of Energy. Check.


I can't help but stare at the F.
Like a crime scene photo of the ****** of my grades.
I missed classes. Deadlines.
Struggled with anxiety and depression.
And yet even though I am haunted by these feelings.
I can't bring myself to care.
I thought it was so many things.
but perhaps I have just fizzled out.
It just me.
My problem.
There's no foul play,
My brain just decided to commit academic suicide.
We threw the toaster into the bathwater,
and jumped right in.