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here is something
It’s these things that make me sad: he’s into bikes now, all of my best friends in different states, every character I make is broken.
I’ve turned my brain off this vacation. I haven’t read anything, or written. It’ll be a struggle just to write about a trip to the zoo next week. But I miss New York, I miss classes and work and stimulation. Rest is nice but I need to be busy. I need to see people and learn things and be moving almost constantly. When I stand still for too long even punk music can make me cry. It’s not supposed to do that.
I have all of these dresses hanging in plastic bags that I can’t wear anywhere. There’s nowhere formal enough to take them out. Nothing fits anymore. I know where I want to be and what I want to do. Now can it just happen, please?
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here is something
The wet months have come to the Atlantic coast. Rain in New York makes me feel so incredibly lonely. It’s not like the rains of Florida, fast, strong, violent, killing power and shaking the houses. Felling trees. New York rains are light, barely exceeding a drizzle. I want to look into my lap and see hands that aren’t my own. Nights are so much harder this way.
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here is something
You’re married. Seriously? MARRIED? You are nineteen. And married. And I am single and reacting too strongly to books I should be disturbed by.
The last time I saw you…I almost don’t remember the last time I saw you because it was something I didn’t want to happen. The changes in you weren’t good ones, even objectively speaking. Maybe you’re better for it now. But did you learn nothing from your mother? Being married at nineteen left her with a son she hated!
I know, I shouldn’t talk so badly about you or your life but, what happened? How could you be such an absolutely different person than you were two years ago?
Granted, if I looked at myself I probably wouldn’t see the same person I was then. But maybe, maybe I would. That was when everything, all of this, these so-called problems were beginning to form, wasn’t it? And you taught me how to live in them.
I miss who you were when we had good days. I’m so sorry things weren’t different then.
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here is something
Circumnavigate may very well be my favorite word.
I wish I had a more distinct or noticeable accent.
Buying good books and new art shows might be more exciting to me than having a healthy relationship.
But I’m in a healthy relationship, maybe for the first time.
Summer might not be the worst season, after all.
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here is something
Sometimes I don’t want to read poetry. I want to read my old books with pages already marked and words already underlines. I want to look at art in person. I want to be breathless and speechless and feel the room fall away.
I want to wake up in the morning or fall asleep at night reading to someone other than myself and maybe this could happen now. I want to feel like I’m drowning. In the good way.
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here is something
So last night I dreamt about you for the first time in ages. I hadn’t even been thinking about you. If anything it was your namesake. But it was you that had to appear and make me feel uncomfortable in my skin again.
And then I saw someone wearing a Don Caballero shirt or at least I made it into a Don Caballero shirt and of course it would be today so I could get hit by it all at once.
But you know what? I’m not. Well, of course I am, but not as much as I thought and I’m still really excited almost giddy about my picnic with a boy tomorrow. And that was something you failed at. Going on a picnic. Making me excited.
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here is something
Every part of my body is tired and sore. But I am mostly happy.
My poetic side and my anatomy-loving side are in love with a boy based entirely on one feature, a genetic defect, a problem. The rest of me likes him, too, and this could be good.
Things are still in-between but I am breathing.
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here is something
I just finished watching a movie. In it the boy has these chances to have everything he wants with the girl he loves and each time he ruins it through his own choices.
Sometimes I will fantasize about being told “I love you” by whatever boy might be prevalent in my life at the time. Most of the time imaginary-me is taken aback, speechless and sorry because she cannot return his sentiments. But there have been occasions, certain boys with whom I could imagine smiling and crying and feeling relieved. The words literally spill out of my mouth in just enough time.
In theory this is perfect. In practice I just want to be with you.
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here is something
You try too hard.
You try too hard, but if you didn’t you probably wouldn’t try at all. You aren’t naturally a “people person” and most of what you’d like to talk about isn’t too popular. Most people are frightened by your excitement over books and art. Your intensity or your intimacy is too much. Also you want so badly to share these special things, but not with the wrong people, the wrong person. So you share everything except for them and bite your lower lip and look too eager and follow the wrong boys home and tremble when you’re leaving and then you’re back at square one and you try too hard.
You just want to make things easy.
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here is something
I could have made you love me. I could have done the right things, moved the right way, fit into the space you needed filled. I could have made you forget the others. I could have made you stop yourself in sentences starting with “I love—”
I’m being told to embrace myself, be self-reliant, self-sufficient, self-self-self but it’s getting boring. And lonely. And for nineteen years, give or take a month here and there, it’s been a lot of the self. Sometimes I just wanna do something for someone else, for someone else to be proud of me, to be happy for or because of. But a reciprocated something for someone else. You know?
I’m always thinking of calling you or finding you. How are you? What’s happened since we last talked? Have you found your peace?
Anything for love, anything for love.
love notes
these are things that I could not tell you;
things that remind me of you when I want nothing more than to forget;
things that have gone wrong;
things that have gone right;
things that will never happen;
things that are your fault,
my fault,
the faults of no one;
these are things that we did not do and will not let go of
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