Sunday, July 27, 2014


i made a mess.  i reached into my guts, into my chest, and i pulled them out.  those memories long tucked away.

they puddle in my cupped hands.  they float and dip, like ice cubes in a punch bowl, like the moon in a cloudy sky.  they're on me, in my hair, on my face, they run down my arms, they're on my couch, in my car, they're in my bed, on my pillows.  

they're scattered across this city.

they're spilled in notebooks on the floor in my closet.

i hadn't allowed myself to delve so deeply into them for so long, to hold each memory in my hand and let the sunlight flow through.  

i forgot how sweet and horrible it was.

i can't help reading it.  i tinkered with the words, even after i hit publish.  i remember everything.  quoting movies, talking in an empty parking lot until 3am, falling asleep on the couch, all those whispers in the dark.  coffee. dinners. so many laughs.  you carried a watermelon.

climbing in and out of that canyon in the middle of the night.

rainy nights wrapped under blankets.

it hurts, it aches.

i miss you.
i hate you.

and i'm SO annoyed this blog is about you so far.

Monday, July 21, 2014


the way you watched out for me, drove like an asshole, knew my drink, laughed, grabbed my hand to run to the car.  the way you looked at me when i was telling a story.  the way you pulled me to you and kissed me, perfectly.  fiercely.  sweetly.

took my breath away.

you crunched numbers while i sorted through piles.  i made you laugh and i liked your hands.
i don't remember how it started.  it just always was.

it was a surprise. i wasn't looking.  and there you were.  gentle and strong every time.  like we always knew each other.

that night you looked at me in the dark, your face lit by the moon.  you watched me, my hand on the side of your face, fingers woven in your hair, my other hand splayed across your back.  

both of us stretched and wrapped and tangled around each other. 

i watched you, your weight on me, in me.  my head rested on your forearm.  you stopped and looked at me, your face serious and inches from mine.  your hand moved to my face.  you whispered "i hate you."  i immediately smiled as i kissed you back, my heart full.  i moved both hands to your face and felt you smiling.  i laughed into your kiss.  i looked back at you.  "i hate you, too," i murmured, knowing the opposite was true.

i mean, i really hate you.
i know.  i really hate you, too.

we looked at each other, smiling. laughed.

i hate you, like, a lot.

[i love you]
[i love you]

we signed emails that way.

hate you.
hate you back. 

we whispered to each other in the dark, legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other, when we were sure the other was asleep.

always tangled. 

you whispered it into the back of my neck, big spoon wrapped around little spoon.

i whispered it into your chest, our bodies facing each other, spent, your arms wrapped around me.

i love you. 

i heard you, and i know you heard me.

Friday, July 18, 2014


i see your face. posed. posted. your eyes jump at me. so open and familiar.

and we're back in high school. english tests. essays. lunches and after school practices.

your arms are wrapped around a bicycle tire. fixing or wrapping tuning something.

your eyes. that crooked smile. 

and we're back in high school.

you look the same. quiet strength. self possessed.

and i'm reminded of my love for you.

you might have been my first love. the kind that ached and whispered truths. notes scribbled.

free and young and true.

the scary kind of jump off the edge of the world kind.

the kind that broke into my heart and left a permanent scar.

that kind.

it makes my chest ache, my throat heavy. i'm brought back to sweaty summer afternoons. wind whipping our hair riding bikes down quiet streets. standing with our arms raised. coasting into and out of the unknown.

you taught me how to write. to feel. to be vulnerable. to want more and expect more.
you bared your soul and fears. you folded your heart into pieces of paper and gave them to me.

i'm reminded of this. brought back to those narrow grass lined streets, with a picture. with your eyes.