how are boardwalks justified? (extremely unedited writing)

i am falling asleep right now, falling to pieces, always. was on a bus for too many hours to count today, was next to someone i love too much too tell. next to the sister who isn't a sister, the friend who is more than a friend without being anything more than a friend. in the isle with m&m's and head phones and a piece of seat between us. she is on the other side of this town now, but i won't see her for a while now. neither of us belong here, we will both return to where we really live, to these lives that we are carefully crafting, painfully slowly.

she said that someone had said to focus on the task at hand, to focus on each task at hand and then a month will be over and then the year will be over and then it will be a little bit less painfully slow. and then i will be dead, not literally, but fuck, slow the fuck down. my grandpa's friend told me not to rush, he's all gray and wrinkly. i am rushing through today, getting ready to dive into this year, to hold my breath as i kick across the pool, racing my own ability to hold my breath.

but really, why? but really, maybe i should slow down, to give myself a reason to take a breath, to open my eyes. this is corny now, but really. a lake and not a pool, a beautiful tree covered hill side. something like that. something more. like maybe if there was something beautiful i would or could slow down.

then again, maybe it is in my head. like maybe if i took a breath while i was swimming across the pool, if i slowed down i would see something too. a beautiful girl adjusting her goggles, or a sliver of light promising magic.

how does one construct a life? how does one construct a building or a city? how does one put in windows so that people pause? how are boardwalks justified? how do i put aside something? how do i build my life? how is a life crafted so that it is something beautiful? something to be lived and not to be survived?

that friend is something else. lets me put my head on her lap and meow, a friend who crawled around on knees with me, who drank milk out of bowls on the floor with me, a friend who played "cat" with me. she is something else. she is something besides that, a friend who knows with me, a friend who talked about floor plans with me, a friend who talked about building a commune with me, an eco friendly commune when we were ten. she hasn't really changed, we still talk about building, on the bus about living. on the bus about days and schools and houses and parents and grandparents and broken hearts and harry potter and farting. like all that goes together, as we rush on the bus, through the tunnel of free way, through the day that was today, waiting to get off to finally go pee.