skeet.: We should have each other

Is there room in your life for one more trip to the moon?

People burning straw houses at dusk, raggedy anne on the train, a mountain sized grave and all you can eat okonomiyaki in a place called Harajuku. So we're on the moon, then, right?

"Only 6 more weeks" mom says on the computer screen.

Has it really come to this?

Another end is coming down that pipe that seemed so long back in September, and now you're looking at crumpled pieces of paper that are dated this month last year, and you can just say wow. Wow. How far we've come and how much we've grown and blah, blah, blah et cetera on into infinity.

It's going to sting pretty good, that plane ride home.

One of those beautiful kind of hurts that is half-reflection and half-recognition. It's over and it was damn good you say, as you cry and as part of your life dies.

That's how it works.

It was this way and it could have only been this way and no other way, just how it was. Just like this.

The faces of my friends staring back at me in my dreams. The steady march of that strumming man in my head playing his guitar so sad and slow, and so--so just right.

The plains scroll by outside the train window, and life here has finally become mundane, it has finally said to me, "You are part of this place, cease being amazed please."

And though mundane of course isn't right to describe this feeling, what other word quite says "I'm used to it here now. Like, really used to it," besides 'mundane'?

I'm writing because I told you I would.

For you and for me and to not forget.

And though it doesn't make much sense...

I just want to hold on for a bit longer. Because when I go home this place will fade fast, and it will be life again, no matter how much I bite and scratch and scream... all night

America will be shocking, for a week or two. But it will be life again. Mundane and whatnot. It will be what it is, burning straw houses, raggedy-anne look-a-likes or not.

Whatever is in store always becomes mundane. This side of the Pacific or That.

Whatever I do is never enough.

And I'm not sure how I'm going to say goodbye to this part of my life.

Because like mom says, it's over in six weeks, though her calculations are off a bit, I think.

It's this kind of thing that is just impossible to say goodbye to.

Also, about my hair. I think I get to keep it. I haven't wrote anything because, well, I haven't heard anything and didn't want to jinx it...