nineteen again

In honor of the most esteemed Ali's wishes, a second list of nineteens from the perspective of what it means to me.

* * * * *

Nineteen is a slightly chilled morning walk to an 8 o'clock class.

Nineteen is running to Jack's Mannequin and Regina Spektor, your steps in sync with the heartbeat of Dark Blue.

Nineteen is wearing espadrilles and carrying a magenta bag.

Nineteen is four texts, fifteen emails (at least ten of those creepy e-cards, courtesy of a crazy sister), nine voice mails, and one package in the mail.

Nineteen is a nap in the sun before Italian and the "Ciao, ragazza," whispered just for me as Paolo swivels into his seat, late as ever.

Nineteen is coming home to a bouquet of tulips across your keyboard, lipstick red with all the hope of spring. It's the card that comes with it, a top ten list stamped with an E and signed with an X.

Nineteen is an hour breathing book-dust in the nooks and crannies of Pioneer Book on Center Street. It's buying A History of Art in the Italian Renaissance just because your mom has it on her bookshelf at home and it reminds you of all you want to be.

Nineteen is chinese takeout and a new book to read.

Nineteen is a quiet night alone and tucking in early because really, no matter what today has been, tomorrow is tomorrow and my alarm is set for five.