My dorm room was bright this morning. It was disorienting.
The sky outside was a cloudless, striking neon blue.
The air was so crisp and clean, I could hardly feel it going in and out.
It all sparked to create a diffused sense of well-being.

Gone, it seems, were the concrete bunker feels of winter.

There's been some loose talk of ‘spring’ lately—I thought it was fake news—but from my third floor lattice windows I could see what looked like people outside. They were walking in the sunshine, riding bikes, throwing frisbees, kicking ​​hacky sacks, a couple was making out in the grass—it was a riot of activity.

Sunny skiffed out of her room (which looks like a hotel room trashed by some rock star), she seemed lighter than air. Three days ago, she announced there was someone of “particular personal significance,” in her life (translate: girlfriend).
Start the schmaltzy, string-drenched soundtrack—love is in the air.

Our challenge now is to carve out a poised and measured final act to our undergraduate years. There’s a scurrying, cynosure, beehive, hyperfocus to labs and classes, a heightened, almost cinematic quality, as if, up to now, we’ve only been practicing for some undefined ‘real thing.’
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Songs for this:
Daylight by Harry Styles
Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing by Michael McDonald
Dizzy (feat. Alfie Templeman & Thomas Headon) by chloe moriondo
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.our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list.

Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).

Falling, falling, falling,
                                  forever
or is this
                                     G
                                   N
                                  I
                           ­     T
                              A
                          ­   O
                            L
                          F
towar­ds a shimmer in the distance
like a wind that carries a dead leaf
whispering through the chimes
that fall upon deaf ears
as if the message was sent
and it just wasn't heard

No, this is f
                     a
                       l
off                    l
    the                  i
precipice  ­           n
                               g

as I watch the sky
march round in a funeral procession
of our history

F L O A T I N G
in this disorienting gravity

S E D U C I N G
in this magnetic propinquity

T E A R I N G
in this psychosomatic schism

every storm proceeds an epoch
                                              of pleasure
as if pleasure
                    is an
Grecian artifact
                        in the backdrop of Ovid

The caterpillar
                       of Like
                       of Love
                       of Hate
cocoons into insouciant
                                      vicissitudes

            ­                           Y.
                                    A
                        ­         W                                
but refuses to fly A

Jinx
Not it
The game my heart plays
With your disorienting love

This is you, you is I
In a way we never saw before
He is she, and so are we
Her thought on the basement floor

They're you and she too
You've never seen his go
I'm coming back to save you boy,
Tis the only 'he' she knows.

You're leading us to them
The strangest place they've ever known
His she is theirs as well...
Maybe I'll understand when we're full grown.