You remind me of those days I lie awake at three in the morning, watching shows like Clarissa, KaBlam!, and Legends of the Hidden Temple. My brother’s asleep on the adjacent bed, the television’s quietly buzzing, and I’m wrapped like a burrito–it was part of the shawarma trend and cargo pants.
I’m fixated on the screen, listening with my eyes. I didn’t feel lonely. These white kids were my friends and I was still miseducated about my country’s history. It was nice, though, to be ignorant. Love wasn’t complicated yet. It wasn’t about matching baggage. It was still about moments, burning roses, and thousand cups of coffee. It was about the janitor’s closet, handcuffs and jail booths, and looking for ghosts behind the auditorium.
Is it okay to go back to the California sky? Are we all under the same sky?