This is Home

I want to turn to whom ever is out there. I want to turn to a god or the spirit of the forests or something, anything, and I want to tell them, Wait, hold on, can we slow down for a sec, talk things over? I want to turn to them and say,

“Hey, cut it out dude, put on the brakes. How many days of classes left?”

9 days. 216 hours. 9 days. 216 hours. 9 days.

“I don’t think you understand. I live here. This is home. And, yeah, I know there have been people here before us, and there are people with futures here after us, but. But. I LIVE HERE.” And we, this stranger and I, we will look at each other in silence and I will find the stranger, the god, looking past me, beyond me and then they will turn away, without malice, without ill intent. There will be no questions and no answers and then the gears will shudder forward and time will roll forward, and as it rolls it will twirl me out, like a ball of yarn; unraveling, faster and faster; spinning, faster and faster.

You never can see the end of the slide when you go down feet first. I live here. This is home. Forever. Please.

-Theo Sweezy, Cambridge, MA