You and him in the 4-Runner by my house while I read on the porch and awaited Braves home opener. Austin doesn’t have baseball, not even minor league, but I need to leave this neighborhood, this city. It can no longer hold me and you, and now, him too. Not running away, just starting...
God! How prescient that I wrote this on the ides of March. I do not believe in mystical foresight but this is the one I told you about and did not post. Know that I am okay, if you even read this anymore. I am full of anger, but okay, and in fact feel as if a very heavy burden has finally been lifted from my chest. I have thought about these things too long and I need to relieve myself. I have never wanted anything like I want you, before or after the diet. I know that I make you feel good about you, but maybe that is only good enough to push you to the next level. You will meet your husband in Sewanee this summer. I hope you do since I do not meet the requirements. It is becoming harder and harder to not want to touch you in ways that you would balk at now, that you once would have not balked at, but rather loved. I can no longer touch your skin like I do. I can no longer want in this way. I have to be Zen. I have to have no desires. That is only responsible where I stand. You will be loved and I will too, but it will not be by each other. I understand these things now. I hope you do too. I will forever love you. And that will kill me until I decide not to let it any more. I am good enough, but far too much the failure. Right? Right? And too anxious too....
I love you and wish that your heart could beat 10 to 12 inches from my chest in slumber tonight. For real.
I have been hugging a pillow for going on two years now. Since you left and moved a half mile away, you have not come back. I stayed there a few times when we were pretending, and then once in the last half year. I guess life becomes delivered to us now in the the half years. Our legs crossed and slumbering, without a doubt, bring me comfort. I don’t feel that you have found better than me. I know that Wyoming did not work out. I know that you felt me through all of that. I know you have your doubts, but we we always will. I spend the time that I think about these things thinking about watching movies with you, and kissing you, and, ideally, making you feel the way in which you should feel. I will not be a fool though. I wish for your legs tonight to rub against mine. I wish that on any given night when the pillow is employed. I want more than that, though not much more. Give me tonight, stay with me. Give me a dream, as you do all of them. I will give them back. Put your feet in my hands for the rest of your life. Cry with me. Laugh with me. Sing with me. As a hollow echo of what has been echoed before, you are all I have ever wanted. Just kiss me when you see me to let me know it is real. I can pretend for a while, but I need your love. Crossbone style. Our legs layed upon each other. Our...
32 years old and i know what to say. I wish for your body, mind and all in the morning, to be here right now. I can’t even remember what our mouths felt like when they were put together. I guess I give up something every day. I loved kissing you goodnight. I should’ve gotten in bed with you earlier. It’s carnal, but I miss your body rubbing against me as I went through my episodes. I will miss it when there are no episodes as...
If this were my movie your text message tonight would have been followed by the scene in which you were standing out front a la Lloyd Dobler with the boom box playing “Down in the Willow Garden” this time rather than “In Your Eyes” and perhaps you would be naked under the trench coat (Jeremy’s addition, he’s married, let him live a little), and maybe you were coming over to seduce me. Maybe you wanted to dance on the double yellow line in the middle of the street right by the public niusance/ pedestrian protection crosswalk signs. We would watch as a black dog pranced down the street, as Mrs. O’Leary walks her angus. A light rain would fall and cover us, your hair all languid curls. My bald spot showing. Or maybe it was pickup packed with your stuff and you had decided that a life away from me was far less preferable than a life with me, and that furthermore, we could save more for our trip to the South Pacific by living together. I didn’t tell you about the trip to the South Pacific? The tickets are bought. You just have to show up. It will be right before you start graduate school, and around the time that I get all the pieces put back...
I been out walking after midnight different this year than a year ago when I thought that you had been awakened by bad dreams and missing me. Oh, it is your birthday and I am prone to exaltations of and sporadic onamonopeia. I have spent a year searching for your heart. Thinking it is somewhere out there. There’s a song in it. When all along it is in your chest. I like being near your chest. I like sending you secret messages. I like the thought that with you I could have the life I always have imagined. I like that you are broken but growing, repairing. I think you will be great. You are great. The greatest predictor of the future is the past. Your ability to still see me this year, to still believe in me, and you, in some strange way… that is my 29th piece of you. You are so much better, more sound, more perfect, more beautiful, more everything than you know, or should know. Maybe you will one...
Why must I suffer this torture of being without you when I believe that you want to be with me, and I know that it is you that I have waited for? My life is lived in a state of tension waiting for you to return to me, my heart. I never believed you existed until I had you, and it is hard for me to realize now that you are...
I have to write tonight because to not do so would mean that someone would not understand… or too many. I have spent the night inthe middle of a 3 mile walk in which the certaintude of things became apparent. Did you know that I love Frank O’Hara’s ” The Day Lady Died.” Some fools apparently thing it is about a dog. I can tell you that no dog can sing like that. I mean, there is dog who can even sing like that, at least I hope. I can hear her call of the strange fruit. Poetry is like breathing to me now, and finally. If you do not understand that, please get out of my way, Let me breathe. Let me be. Find a way to resuscitate your belief so you can go on fooling the rest of us into loving you for a little...
You are my heart. You are my joy. I wish you would come back into my chest, my body, my soul. You were my biggest fan and I pissed on it. Not that I thought I could find better, but perhaps because I did not think I deserved it that good. Did you know I was your biggest fan too? I don’t want to feel half passion, half love, half desire anymore. I want to feel what I had with you. The only person I still feel it with is you. Broken pieces and all, you and I are much better people than the average person I have met in these days since “you and I.” You burn inside me now with a flame as large as there ever was. It brightens my days, but makes my nights sometimes more lonely. I want you beside me every night, for the rest of my life. I want you there at the end of the day. I want your sweet voice singing me to sleep when the confusion overtakes me. I will muster what voice I have to calm you too. I will sing lullabies nightly if needed. I swear, G, I want this more than anything possible in this...
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