I am in Iowa City

Tonight was something that I could care about. Or something. It was the way that I want things to be forever, except for the interrupting phone call that made me feel sick and the possibility that forever is too long for things to be fun. As though or as if a moment catching fireflies (a shockingly easy task) could get boring after a life time. Could a moment be a lifetime and/or in what ways is a lifetime a moment? The walks home in the dark. The ones where voices are flying and your feet are flying and the air is perfect. Could your life be a walk home in the dark and/or is your life walking home in the dark? Although that implies a final resting place, a bed, and a lamp, and the ability to make cheesy pasta while listening to the radio—I don’t believe in Heaven but walking towards a hole in the ground is not fun at all, as though or as if having the goal of home actually changes the air on your skin and your feet on the warm cement, and the sound of your friend’s voice.