the streetlights on willard are all burned out

im bandaging wounds tonight. wrapping and cleaning and holding close broken limbs and organs, bruised and battered, weary and fumbling. its more difficult this time because i have forgotten where things go. the holes that once were there have sealed themselves, the exit wounds are gone and i cant run my finger over many scars anymore, it seems you have taken them all away, made me safe and smooth, and now im standing with my insides in my hands and no where to go. i want to write you love letters. i want to put words to the sound of fists in pockets, falling asleep cold, tears against pillowcases, the taste of your mouth and the way i could pick your hand out of the dark, out of one million, as it traces tiny circles on my shoulder as we sleep. i want to make these into words, a letter, enveloped and signed so that you have to keep them, as real things on a page, so that even after all these memories we made move away, the words are written, the words will stay.
it hasnt happened you know, im being dramatic. crying hard for the first time in a while and i dont know how i feel about that. how my not crying was attributed to something wrong with me, when now i know it was because i was happy.

im thinking about love letters. and lessons and time cards and spreadsheets and all things in which we record time because i cant stand the days i feel like its slipped away instead of spent. tuesday and my dad holds the phone up in calistoga, its early evening and the music is loud, drowning out any silence, any ghosts that linger there and we are still for five ten fifteen minutes as september creeps along and brian wilson sings in the back ground and i imagine my dad, drumming his fingers across the cool white table in the kitchen, crying.
they say that its like love letters, like love letters to los angeles and think about how much ive written about my city. how much this city feels mine, and ours, and shared and what i would put down in that love letter. if i could actually tell you how i feel. make you understand.
its warm today and i feel so young and old at once, my first week at my new job and im laughing to myself under my breath, how shaky my hands are, how seriously giddy i feel. and lucky. i feel so lucky.
my new fish, coco gypsy, is the most beautiful thing and she lets me pet her back all silky smooth and purple under water before bed. weve really bonded even though sometimes i accidentally call her fisher and then 30 seconds have gone by and she forgets about it.
i wonder if it would be easier to forget. to have 30 seconds go by and i wouldnt know the difference between you and someone else on the street. passing you at a party wouldnt feel like lightening, it wouldnt be shattering and heartbreaking, it would feel like my stomach was coming out my sides and the air sucked out of me completely. i probably wouldnt even look at you. my night would continue and that feeling wouldnt even happen and id be falling asleep easily, 30 second intervals and every idea would be fresh and free and new.