chandler collins: Living in the Prism
I was told I’d grow to long for the growing purple shadows on the Lawn and that I’d find a 2nd family and that by Christmas I’d be calling this place home. As I reach the halfway point of my first semester here I begin to reflect on if these promises would hold true. I’m happy to report that they have. I lay on the perfectly kept grass of the lawn and see that this place is a prism. Thousands of disparate beams follow their trajectory and are refracted through this place and sent out in a new direction. I see a small girl, chasing after dancing leaves as her parents slowly trudge along behind. The mother, her left hand cocked against her hip for support, lilting under the weight held inside her stomach. As the girl grows tired, her father swings her up and places her on her shoulders. She raises her arms and gives a yelp – a battle cry of a tiny warrior riding her chariot.
I see a couple that doesn’t yet know they are. They toss a football under the elms.
I lay in the middle. I sit in the prism watching the beams bounce around me and change shape. A cold wind blows and snaps me out of my musings. Thankfully the wind reminds me to take a trip out of my mind every now and then.
Breathe. Breathe. I live in my mind too much. It’s cozy in there and I can rearrange memories and can pick and choose what version of reality to inhabit.
I think I love this place, but I don’t know if I’m actually in love with it or in love with the idea of it. I’ve always had a problem that. Why do I write this? I’m not sure. I like to think of this musings as mental milestones – relics of how I approached life in a certain time period.