Posted in art, friendship, poetry, writing


Roommates  Every time I blow dry my hair I think of you, us sitting on the floor on opposite sides of the dorm because the outlets were under our desks. Remember how we didn’t vacuum the entire first semester and that place where the baseboards meet the carpet was caked with errant strands, a second carpet on top of the shitty stuff already there.  I still use the same dryer six years later, the same $18 pink one with the retractable cord.  I think I told you this but I always thought your hair was gorgeous, the type of hair that had an essence, that reflected the type of person you are, carefree and beautiful with hints of originality, like how you’d wear it in a loose knot on the top of your head. I swear you were the one that started that trend.  I remember how you never brushed it, just combed through with your hands and how I stole the practice for three years after that, convinced that if I ripped through the knots  with the claws of a brush that I’d do more damage than good. Mostly I just wanted to be like you.

Hopelessly nostalgic tonight. This one’s for one of my favorite people in this world.

Sleep well my friends!

–Leanne Rebecca


Poetry and music.

6 thoughts on “Roommates

  1. How lovely! Nice flowing of nostalgia, love and care for someone in your past whom you shared many moments with. Loved the flow. The feeling. The essence that is carried beneath the words.

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