It will take some time, but the dawn will come, the sun will rise.

I don't think I could ever love someone who was perfect. I'm not saying that because we're both in our underwear next to one another feigning sleep, but more or less that imperfections are the french-ticklers of love.

Everyone twitches as they fall asleep, everyone yells out in their sleep. Some even dream about a miniature horse named Lee-Anne.

Its mid-day and if I wasn't on my last day of a fever, I would be at work. I was almost glad to be sick. It could have been self induced for all I know. Even the thought of going into Boston one more day makes my stomach turn.

I want to finish the semester strong. I want to sit in my dorm room with my mother and Luke and talk about art.

Its a mess, the sun is pouring in. Luke's asleep in my bed and I could be in Michigan with Jeremy Quentin making music for the rest of my known life.

This flood was a choice I made.

And I'd rather be here.

I laughed at someones expense today.

I'm sorry.

"the summation of my life is that there are a million attractive women in New York, and only one attractive woman in Lowell"



...sigh.

Not a Pianist

This is one of those days; If I could go to the front of the classroom and sit down at the piano, my fingers tensed, I would. I am anxious, my chest feels hollow and after a weekend of assessing where I stood, I miss you right now. This is Lowell, and its sunny and beautiful in October.

Kelsey left her desk light on this morning. I woke up earlier than my alarm because I thought I could see the sun pouring in. It was superficial. I looked to her empty bed, her sheets thrown about, and my mind quickly traveled to the corner of Pawtucket and School where there is a mattress on the third floor with crimson sheets that looks just the same.

The two tea-cups on my desk were empty. Two, not one, where two, not one, had sipped tea just the night before. But things change so quickly and now there is one, under the covers, staring at the ceiling, imagining her friends asleep next to each other on a southbound bus.

Even if I could stare the Merrimack right in the eyes, it would never take me west. My hair still hangs in my face and I feel guilt when I stand by as someone get hurts. I've never longed for the midwest more.

You've caught me out of sync in a silent classroom where the light pours in to the point where, even if I tried to make out the second bridge down the river, I would not be able to.

This is Manhattan, This is 2 miles south of Michigan, This is Atlanta, asleep in the passenger seat. If you loose your hat on the EL somewhere, just breath through the winter.

NYC Haiku

Lonely is this bed
I'm sleeping alone tonight
Miss you already.

Secret Emails (this is why we need secrets)

From: John Doe [aliimyoursecretadmirer@gmail.com] Sent: Fri 10/16/2009 12:05 PM To: Lipman, Alexandra K Cc: Subject: Hey Ali...I'm your secret admirer Attachments: View As Web Page

Here is a poem I wrote about you...hope you like it. I am an empty glass You are a carton of orange juice Slowly being poured I am the first moments of sunrise You are an unlit room Do you feel like me? Or is your window for someone else?

This kid is everything.