Harvard Square magically lights up at night like my old Polly Pocket kingdom.
Inside the heart-shaped plastic case I would find a tiny little castle, lit up streetlights and a princess. Tiny Polly stood in her plastic spot on the “ground”, next to her horse and carriage with the prince positioned into the yonder grass colored plastic.
What a creator I was, moving her around that little kingdom, not to mention her other “pockets”, including a kitchen scene, the beach, and a couple other house-like or neighborhood settings. If you google her name, you’ll see what I mean.
Intimate and intricate, these little settings grew an imagination in me. I could control Polly’s movements and create a storyline for her and her friends. One minute they would be in the kitchen, proceed to the living room, suddenly it’s bedtime, or perhaps a boy would knock on the door unexpectedly catching all the day’s plans off guard. Two friends might even get into a disagreement over who gets to ride the horse (whose stable happens to reside in the house as well).
But I no longer create a world for this plastic princess.
In my current world, I hit Harvard station at 8:21 and step on an escalator for 53 seconds, remaining to the right so the esca-walkers can pass me. At the top, a man with a weathered face offers me a Metro “newspaper” which advertises tragedy and gossip everyday. The two seconds it takes to reach out and grab it is too much. A second escalator lifts me out of the underground, focusing Harvard Square for me. Is it raining up there?
Raindrops sometimes sleep on the skylights above, snoozing off rising into the sky again. Sometimes the flaky snow is flirting with the wind, forcing me to bundle my jacket more tightly and ignore their careless dancing, though the romance makes me feel warmer inside. Other times, the morning light gently pulls up the corners of my mouth. Brick escorts my feet, while also holding up a homeless man and his dog, college students and magazine vendors. In the winter, Peacoated and North Faced people walk by me, while side bags and backpacks are hugging the backs and shoulders in the same way that children cling to their parents or ride their father’s shoulders.
Harvard University lights up like a scholastic castle once the sun has set again.
It’s one world that I see and at the end of the day I return home to another one. I tromp through the grass in the square in front of the Post Office. Far away from the scholastic castle I find rest in this place I’ve learned to call home. But for how much longer will that still be true. Both will be dropped soon, left behind as soon as I step on that plane.
The lid will be pulled down on both, with a strong clicking sound.
Inside the heart-shaped plastic case I would find a tiny little castle, lit up streetlights and a princess. Tiny Polly stood in her plastic spot on the “ground”, next to her horse and carriage with the prince positioned into the yonder grass colored plastic.
What a creator I was, moving her around that little kingdom, not to mention her other “pockets”, including a kitchen scene, the beach, and a couple other house-like or neighborhood settings. If you google her name, you’ll see what I mean.
Intimate and intricate, these little settings grew an imagination in me. I could control Polly’s movements and create a storyline for her and her friends. One minute they would be in the kitchen, proceed to the living room, suddenly it’s bedtime, or perhaps a boy would knock on the door unexpectedly catching all the day’s plans off guard. Two friends might even get into a disagreement over who gets to ride the horse (whose stable happens to reside in the house as well).
But I no longer create a world for this plastic princess.
In my current world, I hit Harvard station at 8:21 and step on an escalator for 53 seconds, remaining to the right so the esca-walkers can pass me. At the top, a man with a weathered face offers me a Metro “newspaper” which advertises tragedy and gossip everyday. The two seconds it takes to reach out and grab it is too much. A second escalator lifts me out of the underground, focusing Harvard Square for me. Is it raining up there?
Raindrops sometimes sleep on the skylights above, snoozing off rising into the sky again. Sometimes the flaky snow is flirting with the wind, forcing me to bundle my jacket more tightly and ignore their careless dancing, though the romance makes me feel warmer inside. Other times, the morning light gently pulls up the corners of my mouth. Brick escorts my feet, while also holding up a homeless man and his dog, college students and magazine vendors. In the winter, Peacoated and North Faced people walk by me, while side bags and backpacks are hugging the backs and shoulders in the same way that children cling to their parents or ride their father’s shoulders.
Harvard University lights up like a scholastic castle once the sun has set again.
It’s one world that I see and at the end of the day I return home to another one. I tromp through the grass in the square in front of the Post Office. Far away from the scholastic castle I find rest in this place I’ve learned to call home. But for how much longer will that still be true. Both will be dropped soon, left behind as soon as I step on that plane.
The lid will be pulled down on both, with a strong clicking sound.
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