can you blame her?

Some associations never die. Epiphany arrived incarnate as skinny love on a Beijing overnighter, summer of eighteen. Chain-linked cabins are, empirically, irresistible. Couldn't forget that physics lesson by the speakers even if I tried. And trust me, I've tried. First auditory impressions are forever. At the antipode, the broken, airy whistling of a one Spenking beckons symphonic chirping, cold-empty mahogany and green tea candy. Winding windows down on a smoother path merely weeks later, it's a different whistling--more pitchy and piercing. It's a nervous tic motion of the head to the left. This one will be forever Rubik's cubes and scaling swings in black polka dot dresses on the eve of realization--the pivot point between naivety and never-quite-there. There, near, waaaay back--ALWAYS--and yes, even here.