The Middle Cushion

Three-quarters of Apt. 304 were in bed by 11:30.
And I, the lone remnant on the couch.
Middle cushion.
It's Katie's favorite,
and last night it did something for me too.

I pondered the recent words of the prophet of God.
I wrote and wrote and wrote.
I read the writings of people I admire.
Liberation found me.
The clenched muscles in my back released their grip for the first time in weeks.
Finally I was at peace.

There's a blog I follow.
I returned last night, remaining intrigued.
I have to turn her playlist off,
or else my insides ache.
Music has such a way of rushing memories back to consciousness.
I’ve never met this girl.
I’ve seen her in person once and I almost had a fit.
After German.
Downstairs JKB.
I didn’t like the feeling I got about her.

I realized tonight though, that I have learned a lot from her writing.
From who she is.
I admire her for the freeness with which she makes words flow.
She has creativity and cleverness that I marvel at.
She’s further along in this quest for becoming a sharp writer—
one who makes you think from their thoughts.

I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet her,
face to face.
I hope that I will remember this peaceful feeling I have right now—
that I’ll be able to embrace her
and tell her of my admiration.
I hope I won’t chicken out.

I read and wrote,
read and wrote,
'til half past one.
I remembered something about Claire Sorensen:
She needs alone time.
There's a liberation only solitude can provide.

I’m grateful for the ability to read and write,
to think clearly,
to type faster than I handwrite,
to still turn to handwriting.

I love written language.
It is clearer to me than the spoken.
I can pick it apart,
dissect its pieces,
evoking further contemplation.

I decided something today.
I'm going to make a major change.
No, literally,
change my major:
English,
emphasis Editing,
German minor.

I love it and you can't stop me.