i will take our memories and make them dust
lines like soldiers
i’ll inhale and let them return to where they’ve come
my heart will beat fast again.
my pupils drunk on dopamine.
my heart choking on it’s own vomit.
I looked over and record was not where it was supposed to be. I walked over, knelt down and slid the record back into it’s sleeve fully. And when I place it back in it’s home, I notice your record. My heartbeat hesitates. Live At Massey Hall 1971. It was your favorite record and you loaned it to me so that I too could enjoy it. I played it as I made dinner for myself, by myself.
The first time we hung out we ate cinnamon rolls and the sun hung in that sort of soft autumnal way it does that time of year. The air was crisp as we walked to the park. We sat on a bench and talked as you ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you had smashed a granola bar into. We decided to go out west to your family’s house. You played me a song you wrote and we fed your sibling’s turtle lettuce.
As we drove back, the tension made things only slightly awkward. I asked you in to nap with me. You smelled soapy and sweet. Your light brown, shaggy hair was soft and clean. Your smile was kind, and innocent and your lips felt pillowy on mine.
You were sad like me. We shared that. Laying on a school yard black top, I knew you could never love me more than a friend. You took a photo of me laying across the state of Florida in my Unknown Pleasures tshirt. Your shadow was on me.
I saw you a while back. You seemed reserved, but you kind of always were. Only this time you didn’t show me a cute animal video like you always do. I was excited to see you. You had told me you had recently spent time in the hospital. I knew what you meant. Your heart sunk the bench on which we sat. I hugged your arm, and spoke of us doing something soon.
When I found out what happened. I didn’t know what to think. Things like this happen in peoples lives, but it hadn’t in mine. Not to anyone close. Not to anyone who had been inside of me. Not to someone whose breath i had breathed, whose face i had caressed. I felt foolish that I had not heard, but I was not surprised. I felt hurt, but I also feel relieved. I know what it is like to want to die. I know what it is like to be trapped by loneliness.
I miss you, and think of you. I think of your smile and your eyes and that flower you gave me that lived on my bookshelf for so long. I will miss the dots on your face and the sweet, soapy way you smelled-slightly of American Spirits.
May your heart float up and out and your body return to the universe and become the stuff of stars.
I woke up angry today. I still feel a little agitated. Everything I saw bothered me. All of my thoughts were negative and I still, very much, want to lash out. I stopped taking my depression meds this month. Part of it was due to the anxiety I had about setting up what would be my final therapy session for a while, and the other was the stress and inconvenience that would come from having to set up a 10 minute appointment with a doctor that I would have to spend at least 80 minutes traveling to/from. I surprisingly haven’t really had any negative side effects…. but I am starting to feel the sad again, creeping in on me. It’s like a haunting old jazz number played from a distant victrola. The lights are dim and warm yellow, the air is smokey. My brain feels a bit foggy, and I am very tired. My anxiety about these things is constant, yet it keep it smothered- I’m not using this pillow for sleep anyway. I have started to feel that old familiar boredom that once was my shadow. I am not excited for you. The distance between myself and those I am moderately close with is expanding. My inability to be truly intimate with anyone but a lover is worrisome. Coming to terms with my perpetual loneliness in this world is something I have always struggled with, and had felt most recently that I had been coming to terms with, at least slightly. Returning to my “natural” self, one free of chemical intrusion, is a strange thing both physically and mentally. On top of my leap of a transition into the unknown over the past month with major job change, my more pronounced anxiety has me questioning what I am to be doing. I worry my moods will be coming back, but I want to be strong. I am strong. I used to be strong. I don’t know. This house is haunted. I hear you singing old friend…
I close my eyes and it’s summer. We are lying pool, just you and I, on floating rafts. It’s quiet and the sun makes me skin feel like it is radiating heat. As it take a moment to sleepily open my eyes, I can see my chest rise and fall as I breathe deeply. We had been playing with your sister, but she’s gone now. I close my eyes, and can still see where the sun was. The wind brushing through the leaves sounds like the ocean. We hold pruney fingers right below the water. I love you, i love you, i love you. I think to myself over and over, as if the words would never lose their meaning if i were to never stop repeating them. I meant it too.
Our flesh and our hearts were warm. Each moment that summer seemed like it would last forever. Stuck in time, we were emerged, fully, in each other- in breath and touch and sound and life. I had never touched lips so perfect, I had never felt so beautiful. My smile wide and unashamed.
I once knew a boy who loved me when I was in high school and most recently told me about how when we would sing in his car he would watch my mouth make the words and one word that particularly stuck out was “nothing,” how the tip of my tongue lingered on my front two teeth as the word poured out of my mouth. As if to suddenly become self conscious, I now sometimes think about the way I’m doing things, wondering if people watch. Holding door railings or pulling the indicator on the bus. I know there are things I love to see others do, perhaps I think about myself too much.
"I’m sorry I was careless with something more delicate than it seemed. I had blinders. I treasure you. My last letter was a map. I’m giving what I can now in hopes that in the future I can give more. I know there will come a time I have more time and I would love to share it with you."
I got a letter today. It is strange having contact with someone who has no contact with anyone basically. In a way I understand, that disconnect-lonely hearts in each others gravitational fields. A strange infatuation.
"I’ve had to sleep near so many dudes. It’s really no good. I don’t sleep much. It’s way better sleeping next to you. That’s a horrible compliment perhaps. BUT, if we could bunk together in jail, jail would be pretty fucking sweet and we could use one of the bunks as a breakfast nook and share the bed. That is a better compliment."
As I fell to the floor I could feel that my heart was now lead. My fear had come true as I look at her stomach to check for breath. Tears exploded out of me as I lay next to her body with her paw in my hand. My heavy breathing gave the illusion of life, but she was gone. My best friend, my companion lives no more. There is a hole in my heart. I will love you forever and always. Sweet dreams my sweet Zoe.
I miss your morning visits. I miss your sweet embrace. Worn close to me like a hip slung baby, adjusting with my every breathe. Your smell, saltly and sweet. A chain laying on your neck and sheets, your belly peek a booing from your sweatshirt. Your want to keep me with you as I reach out of your arms for the alarm. “I have to go soon,” I’d always whisper to the side of your lips with a kiss. But really, it was you, each visit, each goodbye kiss and squeeze of the hand, saying it to me.
The loneliness is less crippling now, I’m taking back what I never had. Days made dreamier in a drunken haze, nights less cold in warm embrace. Fingers entwined, and shoulder kisses in and out of dreams like sun on my skin. Beacons of light like stars in the sky, twinkling, winking at me assuring me things are ok. Tenderness is a drug, when destroying yourself seems inevitable.
Today I crave your voice. Words and songs that make my heart flutter. I desire your smile; your eyes. Your arm draped lovingly around my body. Your lips caressing my shoulders as they are worthy of affection. you make me feel lovely, to feel worthy and strange. I want to feel your silky smooth skin on my cheek, your cheek smashed in mine. Let’s dream together. Let’s hope and play. Let me know your secrets and I’ll show you I won’t tell.
When we are together, I become unstuck in time. I cease to acknowledge my existence because I am overcome by it. I want to be with you. I feel light- the corners of my mouth float towards the sun. And as its warmth, reflected off of you, washes over me I feel happy. The heaviness in my heart stops, and just for a moment I can breathe. And so I breathe you into me. You taste like smoke and relief. I want to touch you, to be near to you- to taste your skin. I want to lick inside of your lips, our mouths moving together in a conversation of lust. I want to feel your body pressed into mine as my thigh find itself between yours- your pocket poking me with the cigarettes it has hidden inside. But as quickly as you appeared, you leave. My self, my charms are not enough. Too busy. Though you’re conflicted, I wonder if you’ll ever find me to be enough. The doubt floods my heart with lead and I sink into myself. Unlovable- unknowable. A secret for no one.
born broken, my heart needs glue.
it need hands to hold it, to give it shape.
it needs others to recognize, though it’s shape isn’t perfect, because it is so fragile, it is still a heart.
I pushed you and your hands began to shake, you dropped my heart and now my heart aches. Who will love a misshapen heart? who will help
me build a new one?
My memories are all wrapped up in you. That bedspread, concert ticket, book. They were ours once. Given to you out of love, what’s mine was yours. This house, those pots, this heart. Those things I gave you, they’re mine again, handed back like a gift unloved. My old life haunts me with smiles and kisses and love.
Despair. Not sadness. A black darker than the rest. Depression is shades of grey, despair is a lifestyle. The sad place I go to work everyday. It takes work, you know, to live this way. It’s not for the weak of heart. It is for the iron souled. The Tin men. “if I only had a heart!” The truth is I do and it’s made of tar. Covered in oil and can barely pump without the pain of movement. My skin is a pillow and I’m suffocating myself. Breathe in. Blackout.
I saw a dead bird on the sidewalk today walking to work
It’s easy to pretend in the day. The sunshine can blind others to my cringing smile. I only talk to people in public so I can keep my cool, not break down. They hesitantly ask me about it and I say “it’s fine.” But it’s more like a knife being turned very slowly, so slow you can barely see it move, in my heart. I know I’ll get used to it. I am a master of perpetual heartache. I still hate it, and what I hate more is what I don’t know. Is your life better now without me? Do you wake up wishing I was there? Do you mourn for the family we had? Do you mourn at all? Have you even shed a tear? Or am I crying for the both of us? I can’t help but feel there was no fight, no struggle. Our hands became unclasped and we just shrugged as our hearts flew away.
I guess I really never thought about what being an adult was going to be like until now, when I actually “am” one. I guess I just figured it wouldn’t be me sitting alone on my living room floor in front of a space heater listening to bossa nova and watching my cat sleepily squeeze his eyes. But I guess this is what it’s like, obviously.
It’s hardest at night. It’s hardest when I am with only myself, alone. Laying in bed with no one to hold, no warmth , no whisper of sweet dreamscapes to bring luck to my dreams. No sweet face to admire when I wake first. No sweet nothings as I fade into the tiny oblivion of sleep, only nothings.
The papers are signed. My heart is in two. I thought he’d say more, or anything for that matter.
“everything in the future seems horrifying”
“if you kept thinking that than nothing will seem better. this is why we can’t talk about this.”
So sometimes when I drive home from the bar I feel completely awesome.)* slightly drunk I am able to understand the pure diva-awesomeness that is the Whitney Houston song, “I wanna dance with somebody” The thing is, this song is dated, and wonderful and the only way to experience it totally is to listen to it drunk. In my very modern car i can hear all the parts. The emptiness of 80s recording is lost when i hear this song, it’s amplified, and made into a feeling;a sound which has no other alternative. There is fullness in music, there is emptiness.
Reflecting on things that inspire me, I think I have found I am inspired most by other people. I like brainstorming in groups and listening to peoples ideas. I like watching their minds work out loud. I have always been around lots of people- my brothers, cousins, public school. I find surrounding myself with people unconsciously, all the time. I start groups and clubs, i take classes and throw parties and events. I thrive on that interaction. The anticipation, the collaboration is magic. The idea of putting multiple people on even close to the same level for any amount of time somehow speaks to me. Perhaps a reflection of my yearning for some sort of singular oneness with the universe. I can’t be star dust if i refuse to accept that i am already. This strange desire for others is, I can’t help but think, some strange form of loneliness- a feeling of isolation even when around others only to be dealt with by gather more bodies. I think this may account for my sentimental nature towards stuff. at home you can’t always have people over so I think i surround myself with things that reflect people and memories- like living in a house with friendly ghost, my things help me stay “less alone.” This loneliness, easier to deal with outside of the house and in the waking hours is a bit harder to take at night. This is when I feel the worst. The anticipation of sleep leaves me feeling anxious. Perhaps because we are forced to be alone, with only ourselves in sleep. Face to mirror with our inner self. i suppose this is ultimately what i avoid most, myself. My escape in others is only an attempt to flee from myself. But how do I come to accept being alone- being myself? I wonder what it will take to find peace in sleep, and to break out of the tomb of myself and truly be fluid- carried away with the wind.