VCST 🦆🍁🎑

(as told through two annotated poems)
please click the highlighted words for additional information

I look at the stars and– “You’re leaving soon.”

Midnight came fast and slow and never at all. Time is difficult once it gets dark. You lean back and–

“You left first.”
“I know. I’ve always been better at it."

Are there normally tree frogs in the summer? It doesn’t matter. I close my eyes and listen. I can only imagine you do the same and–

“We’ll meet again. Summer has to come eventually.”

The dark is endless, Once it reaches the mountains. I can’t see you anymore.

“I guess. But we don’t abide by the forced continuity of the seasons.”

Can you see me?

“Don’t we? I think we’ll always meet again, In this lifetime or the next.”

I look at you. I try to make out your face. This moment can’t last forever.

“I can’t love you like a soulmate would.”
“I know. You love me how you can, isn’t that enough?”

This moment can’t last forever,
The sun will rise eventually.
But you’re here and I’m here and–

“That has to be enough.”

-A

Look, it's like this, alright?
I love you in the way
where I want for nothing.
No, wait, it’s like this - it's how we both
understand that god is waving at us
through the construction of citrus fruit.

In the way where I dream quietly
about buying a house with you.
Would you share with me a living room
with big windows, soaked in the morning light?
Would you like to retire for the evening, knowing I am comfortably down the hall?

You once said that
you can't love me
like a soulmate would,
but I don't think that's true.
Sit with me in that living room.
I could try and show you what I mean.

I could peel the oranges.
because I have longer nails.
After a long day, I could come home,
and we could play UNO.
You could tell me how you spent your evening.
We could play by our own rules.

I love you in the way
where I want for nothing,
except to have interesting conversations
until we choose to stop and be silent,
Smiling and secure, in our knowledge.
There are things to do and say, together, tomorrow.

You once said, "I love you in every way that I can."
I looked at you, a bit confused.
"Of course you do."
The juice stains our fingers.
A pair of headlights paints stripes on the neighborhood for a moment.
"What more would I want of you?"

Share with me, my dear,
whatever you wish.
I will take everything you willingly offer, and
absolutely nothing more.
I like to imagine these things.
People will ask us questions,
and we will answer with jokes.

-V

New Paltz, New York.

I took a gap year, and I was the only one. I ended up rotting in my room for most of it, and despite the absolute pit I found myself in that year, I know that it was still (probably) the right choice.

Now that everyone is gone, it feels like I don't have a hometown at all anymore.

The poem you're reading, on the left hand side, was written by one of my two best friends (the one with the orange hair).I don't actually know who they officially wrote it about, but we've talked, and we agree that we've known each other in all our past lives.

More on this later.

It is. Continue onto the next poem.

That's enough background. Here's the elevator pitch - I want to make art that feels like home.Complex, nostalgic, awful, strange, warm and joyous - I want to make art that feels like this.

You know that poem, The Orange by Wendy Cope? Lots of people got attached to that one, and lots of people write about oranges and how much love is stored within. Clementia is the Roman goddess of forgiveness.

And this home I want to capture doesn't necessarily exist. I crave stability, abundance, peace. Big windows to look through.

And this home I want to capture is me, two summers ago, rotting (frozen, endlessly) in my room. That, too, is home.

It's true, I have this silly fantasy of splitting a mortgage two or maybe three ways, but until then, or until circumstances change that for me forever, I try to write all this down. This home I want to capture... it's my friends.

Not lovers, to be sure, but absolutely in love.

This is a lot of words and I did not originally set out for this. Thanks for reading. :)-V

The poem you're reading, on the left hand side, was written by one of my two best friends (the one with the orange hair).

I don't actually know who they officially wrote it about, but we've talked, and we agree that we've known each other in all our past lives.

That's enough background. Here's the elevator pitch - I want to make art that feels like home.
Complex, nostalgic, awful, strange, warm and joyous - I want to make art that feels like this.

This is a lot of words and I did not originally set out for this. Thanks for reading. :)

-V