There’s a pregnant commercial on the TV and the woman is scooping ice cream or yogurt or something off of her stomach as she laughs. You would be so beautiful in that state. This is surely silly. Love you, B
If you could only hear it through my ears, it would make the world seem right. Like you hear with me last night. I guess I convinced myself for a while that nothing had changed. That you were here and cleaning and I wanted to help, and did to the extent that was permissible. I don’t know, G. It was only awkward that you had to leave and that I could not hold you in that bed for the night. No naughtiness, just a tight slumber embrace. Just to feel you close to me. Just close to me. There’s one thing I want to say, so I’ll be brave, you gave you what you wanted, I gave what I gave, I’m not sorry I met you, I AM sorry it’s over, I’m not sorry there’s nothing to say…. so there’s nothing to...
I am filled with the spirit, and it very well may be Canadian pop music tonight. It will make you feel better to get outside of your paradigm, and Canada has always been good for that. I want to dance in the streets tonight only if the streets were safe, and it were raining. My arms project from me like antennae. There are crickets tonight. Can you hear them. They are Canadian, and mild-mannered. Was playing: This Night...
I am up tonight and you don’t know why, and I am up and it does not matter and I wish that you were asleep or ready to be so, or waiting up in that room for me. You are so small, but this me, whose experience has been like wrestling a much larger creature. Rilke says the only way that we grow is by being beaten time, and time again, by a much larger opponent. Maybe that is God, or it is ourselves. I don’t know, G. I just know I miss you in my life on this night, like on so many others. You only knew me and your sister in this town for so long, and I know more, but it is almost like I only know you. I hate that pillow now. Your hips and warmth are the only thing that can suffice at these late stages. I don’t have to have you. I want to have you. I don’t have to love God, I just do. I don’t need you, baby. I want you. Did you hear that? I want you. I don’t know when you will receive this. I don’t know how you will feel about it. Know that I have never been full of shit. Know that it always sounds. It, with a clapper- maybe you as the clapper, that has broken this bell, and you as the clapper that can provide the healing salve. I kind of hope you never read this. But why will I not remove it? You were/are everything that this boy could ever want. I love you,...
Oh, I guess so much has changed now since I last wrote on day 55. I can hardly stand to go back and read those posts just yet. They can easily conjure up what it felt like to live in that dark place and time, and I try daily to convince myself that I am far removed from it. My car is my car now. The thing that has owned me for the better part of the last five years is now something that I own. Despite needing a bath and an oil change, it seems like the car is doing okay. Maybe I should give it a name. It didn’t seem right to give it a name before I owned it, but I guess it would be okay now. Anyone have ideas? Maybe I should call it Oscar for the rolling trash can that it tends to be most of the time. I am adjusting to this bachelor lifestyle as well. It’s still not incredibly easy, but I do enjoy being able to do what I want to do just about all of the time. I can sit here at the house on a late weekday afternoon and write while smoking on the porch, or watch ‘Prince of Tides’ and cry and think of becoming a better man. I can think of being utterly transformed. When I look back at that day 55 though, I realize that I am utterly transformed. Those of you that have known me long and well, also well know this fact. I haven’t made much progress toward finishing the novel yet, nor to...
Watch ’em go!I guess sooner or later it comes to this. With all of my attempts at saying I have a serious and valuable profession, sometimes a project like this rolls around and it turns your ethics upside down. I know I mentioned this to several of you in person or via phone, but I figured this was the easiest way to give you all a link to my latest creation. Hopefully it is at least a little amusing. Atlanta Braves Stars sing Stadium...
I write this from the bedroom, just seconds after I walked down the hallway to put myself away for the night. The ghost of you walked ahead of me tonight for the first time in months. I have gotten used to this existence alone. Only occasionally do you creep back in. Not that I don’t miss you. Oh, I do constantly. It’s just that there are fewer times now where the there is a physicality like there is tonight. Maybe it is because there is no you at the other end of the street tonight. Even though I know it isn’t true, I have always felt that if I got far enough down, I could call and you would hold me for a night. I feel like I play games now. That I try to approximate you really being in my life again. I hold a pillow. I hold my breath. I ask God to bring you back, even though I know I should not ask for these things from Him. I should ask Him for what’s best for me, for you, for us all. The night before we broke up I asked you would you stay here again with me before I left this house of ours. You said you would. I realize why you haven’t been able to keep that vow. I understand things were all confused. I understand that you probably really wanted to, at least on a level. This is not our bed anymore. It is just mine. I like it that way on some level. I still do dream of waking with you beside...
Tonight you write asking, “Scrabble?,” and I do not know what it is. Are you wanting to play? I hope that is what it was. I wish I had been there to say yes, please come over. Let’s sit by this fire here that I now have lit, smoke cigarettes, play that game – kiss perhaps, sleep in that room together again. Oh, how warm you always were; a siren calling me to bed before my rhythm would bring me there. It is all loneliness here on this day that began with morning storms. Apparently we didn’t perish. We are still here. I did see you and your mother drive pst the house today. And then, I saw you drive back past. The honk of a horn. The wishing that you would stop. That I could see you. That I could see your mother. That she would give me a hug. That I could spend time with you now before you go away for a week. I have become accustomed, once again, to seeing you regularly, and although the rules of engagement have changed now, I still will miss you. It is odd that I went so long without seeing you and learned to live in that way, but now I cannot believe that I was able to do that. I know I can do it again if I have to, but it is so much nicer that you are back in my life. You are all I ever wanted. That’s the truth. Last night, folding clothes in that room over there, was like a dream. After you left...
When a person has no other persons he invents them because he was not designed to be alone, because it isn’t good to be alone. -Donald Miller And so I wonder at times if I have invented you. If all of this was some sort of dream, a figment of my imagination. Like in the end, this will all have been an illusion of the “Fight Club” or Shyamalan sort. The large portrait of you applying mascara could be just an empty frame. My memory of you applying that mascara, and of me taking the photo, just something that I created so that I wouldn’t feel so alone. Are the ghosts that I feel of you in this house truly just ghosts? Was it just a ghost all along? Did I really take those walks with you recently? Those dinners? I do feel so alone at times. I do anything I can to avoid it, but sometimes you have to face it. Was it all a dream? You sleeping beside me, was that just a pillow like I realize it is now. Donald had his Emily Dickinson, a live-in creation wrought from words on a page. Maybe you are just my Emily, wrought from a dream of my utmost desires. A “Weird Science” type creation. Are you there? Here? Were you ever? Say yes, and wake me from this...
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