Thursday, January 29, 2009

private parking for lonely cities

a city is a city is a city is a city is a city.
no matter how many people you know (according to Sam, I know more than I need to), or how many things you have lined up to do for the day, you will always be alone at times when you'd rather not be.
I've decided I love puddle-reflection picture-taking.
And I have also decided that it does not matter to me how badly you have failed as a human being. As a mother, as a brother and as a father. I sit here right now knowing full well that I am loved, and cared for. The reason I am so blunt, and confident (sometimes) and evasive and colorful, is you. At this moment in time, I would not trade any part of my life (except maybe my thunder thighs) with anything more or less better. I'm obnoxiously proud of having a fucked up family, and loving every little bit of them. I'm now used to making up for people's mistakes, shortcomings, wrong decisions, and down right stubbornness. I will quietly work towards gluing us back together, (if we ever were apart at all), and making the best out of what God has given us. Who knows where our next bread and bed is written? This may be the last time I see you, the last time I eat at this table, the last time I sleep in this house.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

final scene

I am not your Coke-shaped whore.
I am a person with mad feelings. I pour my heart and soul into thoughts and dreams and friendships and intimacy. Like honey into milk. This concept of finality has never been alien to me, yet the closer I get to it, the harder it becomes to accept. I have difficulty relaxing in a room full of bubbles that stare back at me in all their rainbow-colored gloryness. I have unappetizingly clean hands with legible writing. My religion stops at my neck and seafood makes me sick. My only saving grace is that I have something to believe in. But like the moon, this too wanes. My dependency on people is slowly fading and its going to take me a while to actually come to terms with it. Maybe I love you, but I'm not in love with you? Maybe this is all I can say to keep myself from facing the truth: We can't always get what we want. How far can one go for love? When I talked about swimming across oceans and catching stars to sew onto your satchel, how much of that was true? Maybe I don't know it yet (or maybe I do) that it is very difficult to be in a relationship. To truly know the other person and accept them with all their flaws and baggage. To know that this is it, that there is no going back or going forward, this. Is it.

But it all boils down to this. Every time I feel my nose preparing itself for a sneeze, you are my first and last thought. Every time I see another pimple sprout, I think 'well, he will love me anyway'. Every time I am alone (which is a lot of the time, surprisingly), my callous hands take solace in your invisible touch. Winter brings out the cruelty of some, and the hope of many. I have wronged so much, so many times that I don't even think about it anymore. I pretend it never happened, I pretend it wasn't even me who did those things. Because I know deep down inside, whoever you are, wherever you are, you have been mine. Even though we've fucked up, even though we will continue to do so. Even though, this all may very well not happen, the whole...being together forever into infinity and beyond bit..there is nothing I'd rather love to do then swim across oceans and catch stars to sew onto your satchel.

Friday, January 09, 2009

for saph

she collects the hair that falls off his jacket as he takes it off.all she ever wanted was to be released in his locked love.
the time between now and then is forever...and forever was ours ages ago.
she will slip into something sublime, as he slips away into misery, and they'll eventually live happily ever after. like stepped-on rose petals.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009


As she wonders on, he stands in the doorway waiting for her to finish so he can take her home. She exits past him, her flaming red hair in tangles and blood stains on her tutu. He starts to present his monologue, as if ending a well-written story.
' Although she will always deny being the center of his every living breath..she cannot deny that he is the center of hers'.