02 September 2021

0 i'mma just lay all of the mess at your feet

the egyptian and i have broken up two times in the last two weeks. which seems like rather a bit too much. 

he knows he is not ready for a relationship. i do not even know where i am. am i here? i am definitely not there.

shane russell has died. 

if you were a girl at my high school, that means something to you.

i cannot remember if he went to our middle school. i think he did but i don't want to commit to something inaccurate. 

what i remember was that he was one of like five cute guys in whatever school we were in. and then, while i went on a journey towards trying to be chic (by which i basically just mean wearing bootcut jeans), he went country. 

this is a typical trajectory for boys in tennessee. but it mean i no longer found him attractive, post-wranglers.

lindear had a crush on him too. we open the text conversation about how shane is in the hospital with covid by acknowledging we both had till-then-secret crushes on him in the mid-90s. 

i'm realizing i've been in the middle of something of a light depression, ever since the charles j. shields stuff came boiling back maybe but more so with the changing of the seasons.

i'm pretty sure i shouldn't be crying in between classes. 

i want to say something really profound but, really, i have nothing. 

there are these banana trees, on the corner of corcoran and 15th. 

i walked over to see them the other day. a day or so later, when the egyptian and i reconvened to discuss whether or not we had made a mistake, i took him to see them. 

standing under them, he wanted to kiss me but didn't. i wanted him to but i looked away.

this is special, right? he asks me, as we break up for the second time in two weeks and i nod, swiping my pointer fingers grandly beneath my eyelids to collect the tears falling from my green eyes, like our queen celine dion. 

the thing about the banana tress in america is that they cannot handle the winter. they have to be unplanted and packed away for the cold months. burvil used to put hers in the attic. 

in order to live, they must be uprooted and packed away. but then the spring comes again and then the summer, and they stretch themselves, grandly lifting their green selves up towards the sun.

that's it. that's the ending. the banana trees will be back. let me just put my little faith in that.

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