every tuesday and thursday salome and i go for cafe cortados, mine with sugar, hers with whole milk, at cafe haiti, a cafe con piernes and the girls all wear short, tight dresses and too much make up and no matter what time of day it is, the bar is always full of men in suits, cleaning ladies smoking cigarettes or smartly dressed ladies gossiping at a table in the corner. there are no seats, no stools, no booths. the idea is to have cafe, get in and get out. if you want to stay and linger over the ladies you have to order more cafe. and you have to stand.
she is so lovely and always treats me to cafe and one of these days i keep saying i will do something nice for her but my personal problems, lack of money, lack of sleep and general disregard for anyone elses feelings right now keep getting in the way.
we are discussing regret in our lesson right now and its almost too painful to bear. she's going through what sounds like a messy divorce and her daughter doesn't seem to be taking it too well.
and im here, going through whatever i am going through and i haven't told her about it. she keeps asking about my boyfriend in buenos aires and what he says and have i talked to him. and im too afraid of how nice shell be to me. of what shell do to make me feel better. i cant bare to see her face when i tell her, no, actually, its all over. and shell worry about me i know it. she will.
today she tells me she has premonitions in her dreams. that she saw her fathers death before he died, that she envisioned meeting me. that there was a man who would show up in her dreams and then one day she met him and he became her husband and in her dreams he ends up stabbing her in the stomach. she wonders out loud why she didn't see this before. why she didn't trust her instinct, why she didn't trust herself, why she trusted him.
this makes me start thinking. when did i give away all my power? all of my love to someone else and leave none for myself? how do we ever fully trust someone? people always let us down, i don't know why i was surprised this time. i don't know why or when i thought things felt different. why, every time you called me darling, i felt safe and so i gave it all away.
i ask her to have a premonition for me. to tell me my future. i want to know how this ends. to save myself from anything bad, to detour, to make changes so this goes the way that i want it to. because i THINK i know how i want it to end. but there really isn't anyway to know what the end looks like until you are there. and then it will just be the end.
she tells me i have to open my mind. that i have to will these thoughts, these questions into my dreams, to know my future is to dream it.
i want to cry at this. in her limited english she has just saved my life.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
i try
i grudgingly get into bed with the heart underwear i bought for valentines day on...they are my last clean pair and i would rather sleep with them on then naked. naked means too much, too comfortable. too safe, too sure. too our bed, too many nights, too much.
i remember buying them and thinking they were so cute, how you would like them, how on valentines day i had come home drunk from mimosas with the crew, i was the only one with a boyfriend, a place to be, how i couldnt wait to shower, to put lotion on and then these underwear, these silly little white underwear with red hearts. how i had never cared about anything like this, how i had never had a chance to do anything like this. to live with someone, to keep things exciting, to be fun, to be silly, to be in love.
i remember when i packed to move, i packed so carefully i thought, i brought only things that would remind me of you. my favorite underwear, your plaid shirt you had given me to sell at a sun sale and i had kept, a sweatshirt i only wore at home, with you, underwear you loved to see me walk around the house in, shirts i had worn on important nights out, jackets that still smelled of your shoulders, your arms, things that still smelled of that apartment. i had packed carefully i thought, and now, and now. now i have no hoodies, i dont have enough socks, i didnt bring enough nice clothes, i only have leggings and all my nice shoes are in storage, mingled amongst your things, somewhere in some storage bin between sf and east bay.
now i just have things i can hardly look at, things i can hardly stand to have on my body.
but in reality, you are everywhere. its not just my clothes. it is music, it is food, its my words, it is everything. i cant tell a story without you in it.
in the book, i just keep trying to write everything before, because nothing now makes sense, but it all just keeps leading up to the months before i met you, to where my life really began.
this morning im washing dishes and something clicks. i will never wash dishes in that apartment again, with vito sunbathing on the deck and ghostland observatory or au revoir simone or tv on the radio playing in the background while you work. these things, these tiny little things that were my life, will never happen again. and it is heartbreaking. i had a life with someone.
and now, and now, that life is gone. so quickly, so immediate. i keep thinking there is something i could have done. i could have stayed, i should have tried harder.
but i know its not that, its not me. its not us, its not you. its not that city.
so i just keep washing the dishes until theyre all done. i wear these underwear to bed and i hate it. but i try to remember and forget at the same time and hope that i will see you in my dreams and that things will be different. i try to sleep. i try to keep things simple. i try to just let underwear be underwear and washing dishes be dishes and you be you and i try, mostly, to keep on keepin on.
i remember buying them and thinking they were so cute, how you would like them, how on valentines day i had come home drunk from mimosas with the crew, i was the only one with a boyfriend, a place to be, how i couldnt wait to shower, to put lotion on and then these underwear, these silly little white underwear with red hearts. how i had never cared about anything like this, how i had never had a chance to do anything like this. to live with someone, to keep things exciting, to be fun, to be silly, to be in love.
i remember when i packed to move, i packed so carefully i thought, i brought only things that would remind me of you. my favorite underwear, your plaid shirt you had given me to sell at a sun sale and i had kept, a sweatshirt i only wore at home, with you, underwear you loved to see me walk around the house in, shirts i had worn on important nights out, jackets that still smelled of your shoulders, your arms, things that still smelled of that apartment. i had packed carefully i thought, and now, and now. now i have no hoodies, i dont have enough socks, i didnt bring enough nice clothes, i only have leggings and all my nice shoes are in storage, mingled amongst your things, somewhere in some storage bin between sf and east bay.
now i just have things i can hardly look at, things i can hardly stand to have on my body.
but in reality, you are everywhere. its not just my clothes. it is music, it is food, its my words, it is everything. i cant tell a story without you in it.
in the book, i just keep trying to write everything before, because nothing now makes sense, but it all just keeps leading up to the months before i met you, to where my life really began.
this morning im washing dishes and something clicks. i will never wash dishes in that apartment again, with vito sunbathing on the deck and ghostland observatory or au revoir simone or tv on the radio playing in the background while you work. these things, these tiny little things that were my life, will never happen again. and it is heartbreaking. i had a life with someone.
and now, and now, that life is gone. so quickly, so immediate. i keep thinking there is something i could have done. i could have stayed, i should have tried harder.
but i know its not that, its not me. its not us, its not you. its not that city.
so i just keep washing the dishes until theyre all done. i wear these underwear to bed and i hate it. but i try to remember and forget at the same time and hope that i will see you in my dreams and that things will be different. i try to sleep. i try to keep things simple. i try to just let underwear be underwear and washing dishes be dishes and you be you and i try, mostly, to keep on keepin on.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
im only sad for a little bit today
and then i turn off all those sad songs and sing new ones.
and pretend thats enough.
and pretend thats enough.
heat, heavy heat
the heat comes on in the apartment sometime in the second week of june, simultaneous with an immense feeling of internal cold, so i suppose it is just in time.
now, weeks later, i can wear just underwear and tank tops to bed, sleep with just the sheets on over my skin while looking at snow on the andes 30 miles away.
the heat comes up from the floor, the tiles, certain ones are hot, heated and we stretch out against them to collect the warmth in our bodies, like cats, looking out at the rain and thinking. somehow i think were all, for different reasons, trying to plan our escape.
except it would just be a move this time. im not running from anything here. i cant say that about many places and so in a way, this place is safe for me.
last night it rains so hard the front door to my apartment building shatters. an entire panel of glass just blown to bits. the concierge wears thick wool coat, mittens, hat and scarf and when we say buenos dias in the morning his breath puffs out in smokey white bursts. i feel badly that hours before i had been comfortably half naked smoking cigarettes on my couch with the window open.
walking to work i think of all the things im grateful for. i count them, on my fingers, and the list grows longer until by the time i reach the revolving doors at 750 huerfanos ive run out of limbs and i feel lucky. not happy, necessarily, but lucky. i feel today, like i can do anything.
that feeling is rare but imma run with it.
count your blessings friends, no really, count them.
now, weeks later, i can wear just underwear and tank tops to bed, sleep with just the sheets on over my skin while looking at snow on the andes 30 miles away.
the heat comes up from the floor, the tiles, certain ones are hot, heated and we stretch out against them to collect the warmth in our bodies, like cats, looking out at the rain and thinking. somehow i think were all, for different reasons, trying to plan our escape.
except it would just be a move this time. im not running from anything here. i cant say that about many places and so in a way, this place is safe for me.
last night it rains so hard the front door to my apartment building shatters. an entire panel of glass just blown to bits. the concierge wears thick wool coat, mittens, hat and scarf and when we say buenos dias in the morning his breath puffs out in smokey white bursts. i feel badly that hours before i had been comfortably half naked smoking cigarettes on my couch with the window open.
walking to work i think of all the things im grateful for. i count them, on my fingers, and the list grows longer until by the time i reach the revolving doors at 750 huerfanos ive run out of limbs and i feel lucky. not happy, necessarily, but lucky. i feel today, like i can do anything.
that feeling is rare but imma run with it.
count your blessings friends, no really, count them.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
whoever coined the term "taking the easy way out"
must have been on the other side, looking back. because im in it right now and i cant see clearly. i cant see any possible easy way out of this. not alive anyway.
tonight i take the metro home with nick, my sweet friend from wisconsin who has been invaluable the last two weeks, at far as getting me out of the house, shamelessly smoking and drinking and appreciating my bitterness. he also tells me how pretty i am, and loves to read my poetry and talk about the united states and all the things we miss. and he never tells me to be quiet. he always has time for me. basically he has become one of my closest friends, something i am lacking as of late and really really need.
we walk and talk along lota to the roundabout by los leones, one of my favorite walks, past the old wooden fish restaurant built like a boat, past the castana, that always smells of pan y dulces and i always look in longingly, and pain stakenly, remembering the desserts for breakfast we ate in buenos aires, and they sit, with their sugary glisten, untouched. i can never eat one again, just thinking about it makes me sick.
nick isnt afraid to speak english loudly in the metro, normally im so embarassed but we speak freely and complain about our jobs, about our expectations for this city that we had tried to not have, but have nonetheless. it seems we always talk about going home, especially as of late, and we both seem disappointed tonight, in life, in love, in cities, in ourselves?
today you ask me what do you want? it seems that everyone loves this question lately, as if everyday since i was able to speak i havent been thinking about me, myself, what I WANT. as babies we cry for what we want, we lack the communication skills to ask for it by name, as children and adolescents we lack the tact or social graces to ask for things correctly and so we demand our needs be met, but by the time we reach teenage years and adulthood we have all but become silent. we have been taught we cant demand for what we want, to ask politely, to wait our turn and in this backwards regression we lose our voice. we continue to desire, to want, to need, to dream, but our ability to ask for these things lessens, we get so used to being denied that we become fearful, we forget how to desire, how to demand, how to achieve. we learn that to get what we want we have to sacrifice things that we need and vice versa.
that there is nothing easy about this. that we are not infants, we are real grown up people, with real, big, grown up hearts (although often mine still throws tantrums) and we cannot simply cry out to be satisfied, we must find the words to ask, albeit politely, of the people we love for what we want. it is not such an easy question but i suppose the way to answer it, is, like we have always done, like i have always told you to do: prioritize.
make a list.
the thing you want the most should be at the top.
and then
and then
and then
i guess my question is where/if i fit on that list.
and then well go from there.
talking about what we wanted, with each other, under the covers of your bed, on the front steps of the opera building on van ness, over beers and pool at jacks, on a freeway drive, on a balcony in buenos aires, in tiny quiet whispers over thousands of miles before bed, in love letters, was always easy. for me, that was easy. i know, i know just what it is that i want.
that is not to say that my wants wont change. im sorry you dont know what you want. i know that must feel awful.
i wish i could remind you. i wish i didnt have to remind you.
the good (?) thing is, im not sure about anything anymore. not today, not tonight.
time to make another list.
it is the how. it is the work, it is this time, that we are in right now, that weve carved out to make shit happen.
but dont you see? how can the rest of it happen while forgetting how we got here?
i guess, right now, ahora, i am lucky to be here. to be able to make a new list. it will be a long one.
there are a lot of things i want.
there are a lot of things im too smart to forget.
must have been on the other side, looking back. because im in it right now and i cant see clearly. i cant see any possible easy way out of this. not alive anyway.
tonight i take the metro home with nick, my sweet friend from wisconsin who has been invaluable the last two weeks, at far as getting me out of the house, shamelessly smoking and drinking and appreciating my bitterness. he also tells me how pretty i am, and loves to read my poetry and talk about the united states and all the things we miss. and he never tells me to be quiet. he always has time for me. basically he has become one of my closest friends, something i am lacking as of late and really really need.
we walk and talk along lota to the roundabout by los leones, one of my favorite walks, past the old wooden fish restaurant built like a boat, past the castana, that always smells of pan y dulces and i always look in longingly, and pain stakenly, remembering the desserts for breakfast we ate in buenos aires, and they sit, with their sugary glisten, untouched. i can never eat one again, just thinking about it makes me sick.
nick isnt afraid to speak english loudly in the metro, normally im so embarassed but we speak freely and complain about our jobs, about our expectations for this city that we had tried to not have, but have nonetheless. it seems we always talk about going home, especially as of late, and we both seem disappointed tonight, in life, in love, in cities, in ourselves?
today you ask me what do you want? it seems that everyone loves this question lately, as if everyday since i was able to speak i havent been thinking about me, myself, what I WANT. as babies we cry for what we want, we lack the communication skills to ask for it by name, as children and adolescents we lack the tact or social graces to ask for things correctly and so we demand our needs be met, but by the time we reach teenage years and adulthood we have all but become silent. we have been taught we cant demand for what we want, to ask politely, to wait our turn and in this backwards regression we lose our voice. we continue to desire, to want, to need, to dream, but our ability to ask for these things lessens, we get so used to being denied that we become fearful, we forget how to desire, how to demand, how to achieve. we learn that to get what we want we have to sacrifice things that we need and vice versa.
that there is nothing easy about this. that we are not infants, we are real grown up people, with real, big, grown up hearts (although often mine still throws tantrums) and we cannot simply cry out to be satisfied, we must find the words to ask, albeit politely, of the people we love for what we want. it is not such an easy question but i suppose the way to answer it, is, like we have always done, like i have always told you to do: prioritize.
make a list.
the thing you want the most should be at the top.
and then
and then
and then
i guess my question is where/if i fit on that list.
and then well go from there.
talking about what we wanted, with each other, under the covers of your bed, on the front steps of the opera building on van ness, over beers and pool at jacks, on a freeway drive, on a balcony in buenos aires, in tiny quiet whispers over thousands of miles before bed, in love letters, was always easy. for me, that was easy. i know, i know just what it is that i want.
that is not to say that my wants wont change. im sorry you dont know what you want. i know that must feel awful.
i wish i could remind you. i wish i didnt have to remind you.
the good (?) thing is, im not sure about anything anymore. not today, not tonight.
time to make another list.
it is the how. it is the work, it is this time, that we are in right now, that weve carved out to make shit happen.
but dont you see? how can the rest of it happen while forgetting how we got here?
i guess, right now, ahora, i am lucky to be here. to be able to make a new list. it will be a long one.
there are a lot of things i want.
there are a lot of things im too smart to forget.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
on timing
the lights of after office are still burning, casting blues and greens and reds across the walls of my room here in the centro and i always know its wednesday when i fall asleep with cascades of colors and flashing lights. just another way to mark the time. except i dont know what im counting down for anymore.
afton and i dance on our rooftop to "empire state of mind" and talk about our old apartments and feel sad and miss the views of our respective cities while in the glaring lights of another. and its not fair, its not fair to miss something that isnt yours anymore, that you cant go back to but that you cant help missing anyway. and every song she plays has a memory, i cant listen to MGMT without thinking about you (but you, you are constant on my mind) and tegan and sara are off limits and so we give each other new songs, songs introduced to us by some boy in spanish, some girl on the subway, some party at some house on some night and we try to make new memories but mostly tonight, we try to forget. and then we have to enact our old rule of no more talking about the states because it just makes us restless, anxious, we just get quiet and thinking and start to spin and ive been pretty good the last couple days on staying grounding, on being present, on moving on.
this is where we live now. this is our life, however we got here, whoever made choices for us to bring us to some roof, together in some huge, sprawling, light filled city full of tiny colored boxes and hills with stautes of la virgen. however we got here, we are here and so we live it, we dance.
we dance until were too tired and climb back down, scaling the side of a wall while holding beers in your hand is not easy and then into our warm little apartment and i try to distract for a couple hours, for some time, try to write, write this that youre reading right now, because sleep will come, just not with a hurry, just not when i want it to. and so i sit back, because there are some things i cant control and some things i can. and sleep will come, and you will come, or not, when it wants to.
afton and i dance on our rooftop to "empire state of mind" and talk about our old apartments and feel sad and miss the views of our respective cities while in the glaring lights of another. and its not fair, its not fair to miss something that isnt yours anymore, that you cant go back to but that you cant help missing anyway. and every song she plays has a memory, i cant listen to MGMT without thinking about you (but you, you are constant on my mind) and tegan and sara are off limits and so we give each other new songs, songs introduced to us by some boy in spanish, some girl on the subway, some party at some house on some night and we try to make new memories but mostly tonight, we try to forget. and then we have to enact our old rule of no more talking about the states because it just makes us restless, anxious, we just get quiet and thinking and start to spin and ive been pretty good the last couple days on staying grounding, on being present, on moving on.
this is where we live now. this is our life, however we got here, whoever made choices for us to bring us to some roof, together in some huge, sprawling, light filled city full of tiny colored boxes and hills with stautes of la virgen. however we got here, we are here and so we live it, we dance.
we dance until were too tired and climb back down, scaling the side of a wall while holding beers in your hand is not easy and then into our warm little apartment and i try to distract for a couple hours, for some time, try to write, write this that youre reading right now, because sleep will come, just not with a hurry, just not when i want it to. and so i sit back, because there are some things i cant control and some things i can. and sleep will come, and you will come, or not, when it wants to.
be honest, she says
after a disgruntled shopping experience where everyone stares at me and i buy juice and bread and palta and wonder where my appetite went, afton and i share a plate of greasy fries at a little typical chilean restaurant where the tv blasts chile's recent win over honduras and i get to thinking.
the people who say traveling abroad will be the most amazing experience of your life are usually the people who studied abroad, who traveled with money, who were unattached, who were running from something. they are usually not the people who chose to leave everything they love to live somewhere alone. who move somewhere under a certain impression, with expectations, with promise. because i feel like there would be such a different story. i want to hear about the hard parts. the scary parts. the long, long nights. the attempts at a new language, at new customs, new friends. i want to hear about when you fell apart, when you questioned everything, when the people who were supposed to be your family, your support turn their backs on you. i want to hear about how living abroad is the most difficult experience in the whole world. thats the story you never hear about. i guess ill just have to keep living it and let you know.
today there are riots in the street at 10am and i sit on my window seat and take photos and smoke cigarettes even though i shouldnt and i dont want to but i dont have any reason not to. i cant breathe anyway. the streets are littered with paper and carabineros throw tiny explosions, making popping sounds echo across the courtyard of the university and when i do finally leave the house, the sting of pepper spray makes me sneeze for blocks. i feel anxious and restless, i feel lonely and ugly and like someone i dont know.
today i had plans and they all fell through when tanks rolled down alameda and made it impossible to run any errands. and its cold, like really cold, and i dont have the proper clothes as usual and all i want to do is stay in my apartment and look at santiago from above, like a cat and plan my next move.
all my plans have been ruined and i cant bare to face the idea of having to make new ones that only include myself. i shouldnt have been so sure, so giving, i shouldnt have. i couldnt have helped it though.
in my classes i am teaching about regret and i try to tell this woman who is going through a divorce and has a 6 year old daughter what regret feels like, that its such a heavy word and when she asks for an example i want to say, where do i begin.
but i cant regret. i can only adjust, i can scour the past two years for where, when, why things went wrong. how all my previous choices led me here and what i would have done differently but it doesnt change anything. i am still living in some crazy city where french fries are a food group and my heart is broken. i dont see any way i could have escaped this. the choices i made were ones i stood behind at one point, i thought i had gotten so good at seeing clearly, at thinking with my head and my heart. and maybe thats your problem, maybe things got too confusing in one area or another and so you just chose. you just made a decision. i cant judge you for that. i can be angry though. and confused. and i can only hope that at some future point youre not sitting in some far away country counting all of your regrets. or maybe i hope you are. i dont know.
people say when you leave you will change, that you leave to go find yourself. but i just keep thinking about the changes here. how as of late i am becoming someone i cant look at in the mornings. someone i dont trust alone with myself at night. it has been a series of days of waiting, of being quiet, of staring out this goddamn window. and this is not to say that i am not living. i am fully packed every day. i am embracing everything, i am trying here, i really am, i am sitting with myself, i am learning, i am growing, i am changing. but i am resistant. i liked the girl in san francisco. most of the time.
shell be back, in phases, in stints.
right now shes looking out the window of a strange city that shes trying to make her own. alone.
and everyone says san francisco will always be there...but you said youd always be there for me too. you said you werent going anywhere...and well, i dont see you. are you there?
so maybe san francisco will sink into the sea while im gone. and maybe i couldnt care if that city burned to the ground. its dead for me...save a few monumental places, face and streets i kissed you on.
but if anything, this has been good for the writing. but people dont tell you that, no ones honest anymore. no one tells you how this will really be. no one tells the truth.
the people who say traveling abroad will be the most amazing experience of your life are usually the people who studied abroad, who traveled with money, who were unattached, who were running from something. they are usually not the people who chose to leave everything they love to live somewhere alone. who move somewhere under a certain impression, with expectations, with promise. because i feel like there would be such a different story. i want to hear about the hard parts. the scary parts. the long, long nights. the attempts at a new language, at new customs, new friends. i want to hear about when you fell apart, when you questioned everything, when the people who were supposed to be your family, your support turn their backs on you. i want to hear about how living abroad is the most difficult experience in the whole world. thats the story you never hear about. i guess ill just have to keep living it and let you know.
today there are riots in the street at 10am and i sit on my window seat and take photos and smoke cigarettes even though i shouldnt and i dont want to but i dont have any reason not to. i cant breathe anyway. the streets are littered with paper and carabineros throw tiny explosions, making popping sounds echo across the courtyard of the university and when i do finally leave the house, the sting of pepper spray makes me sneeze for blocks. i feel anxious and restless, i feel lonely and ugly and like someone i dont know.
today i had plans and they all fell through when tanks rolled down alameda and made it impossible to run any errands. and its cold, like really cold, and i dont have the proper clothes as usual and all i want to do is stay in my apartment and look at santiago from above, like a cat and plan my next move.
all my plans have been ruined and i cant bare to face the idea of having to make new ones that only include myself. i shouldnt have been so sure, so giving, i shouldnt have. i couldnt have helped it though.
in my classes i am teaching about regret and i try to tell this woman who is going through a divorce and has a 6 year old daughter what regret feels like, that its such a heavy word and when she asks for an example i want to say, where do i begin.
but i cant regret. i can only adjust, i can scour the past two years for where, when, why things went wrong. how all my previous choices led me here and what i would have done differently but it doesnt change anything. i am still living in some crazy city where french fries are a food group and my heart is broken. i dont see any way i could have escaped this. the choices i made were ones i stood behind at one point, i thought i had gotten so good at seeing clearly, at thinking with my head and my heart. and maybe thats your problem, maybe things got too confusing in one area or another and so you just chose. you just made a decision. i cant judge you for that. i can be angry though. and confused. and i can only hope that at some future point youre not sitting in some far away country counting all of your regrets. or maybe i hope you are. i dont know.
people say when you leave you will change, that you leave to go find yourself. but i just keep thinking about the changes here. how as of late i am becoming someone i cant look at in the mornings. someone i dont trust alone with myself at night. it has been a series of days of waiting, of being quiet, of staring out this goddamn window. and this is not to say that i am not living. i am fully packed every day. i am embracing everything, i am trying here, i really am, i am sitting with myself, i am learning, i am growing, i am changing. but i am resistant. i liked the girl in san francisco. most of the time.
shell be back, in phases, in stints.
right now shes looking out the window of a strange city that shes trying to make her own. alone.
and everyone says san francisco will always be there...but you said youd always be there for me too. you said you werent going anywhere...and well, i dont see you. are you there?
so maybe san francisco will sink into the sea while im gone. and maybe i couldnt care if that city burned to the ground. its dead for me...save a few monumental places, face and streets i kissed you on.
but if anything, this has been good for the writing. but people dont tell you that, no ones honest anymore. no one tells you how this will really be. no one tells the truth.
Monday, June 14, 2010
with love, from santiago
tonight i walk to work and its freezing, but the air quality is better, i can breathe and it has begun to rain. i wish for something on all the tiny drops i feel against my face. one, two, seven, fifteen and i count how many i feel in the time it takes me to get to los leones from providenca because its the first time i have felt anything, anything at all in five days.
i feel exhilarated and guilt ridden all at once. i don't want to feel any of this without you. life is richer with you.
but here we are. here I am.
i feel exhilarated and guilt ridden all at once. i don't want to feel any of this without you. life is richer with you.
but here we are. here I am.
pop pop
today feels like last night
just different shades of darkness
i sleep only a few hours
restless on my back sleep
and imagine you, where ever
you are, resting peacefully
sleeping with your mouth
half open
like a little bow
and this makes my stomach
churn
a mix of longing
and disbelief
just different shades of darkness
i sleep only a few hours
restless on my back sleep
and imagine you, where ever
you are, resting peacefully
sleeping with your mouth
half open
like a little bow
and this makes my stomach
churn
a mix of longing
and disbelief
Friday, June 11, 2010
sleep doesnt come
this room will be the death of me.
i was always so grateful to move before. every couple months was like flushing away the old, the bad, the sleepless nights (you can only count the panels in the ceiling, the cracks in the molding, the ribs under your flesh so many times) of some apartment, some home i couldnt live in anymore because of the memories it held of you. and now this place, this place i couldnt wait to show you ( i dreamed of sleeping beside you in this bed, of looking at the castle view from my window seat of showing you my writing desk, dont you understand?) this place has turned dangerous for me. at night i count car alarms and bottles breaking and i try to will you back.
now nothing exists. plans i had made, a life i had ahead of me, my dreams, because that is what they were, my dreams, are gone.
this does not swallow easily. i like to get what i want. what i am promised, i like to be given.
im spinning out of control up here, down here, in here.
(in my head, this country, this room)
and even here you are in everything. so intertwined with my life. little parts of ourselves had begun to cling together, had begun to flourish. i thought we had finally found our spring.
nothing is safe. not music. not food. not words. and especially not night. long, quiet night, i cant close my eyes because there you are. there is the life we arent living. there is everything we made.
we are driving in the rain from bodega after eating oysters out the back of your truck, jumping off a dock in cape cod at someones private beach, you drying off and getting dressed after a shower, over candle light last new years when we had the perfect meal, we toasted 2010, waking up and taking vito on walks, the smell of your skin, the night you said i love you and could barely get it out, its summer and bike rides and buenos aires and love notes and making you a tea was one of my favorite things to do, looking at you from across the room at a party and catching your eye, it was like we had a secret, it was the safest place to be. and then there is everything we havent done yet. its just floating around in my head. still there, still desired, mocking me, some cruel horrible joke. some secret garden and i cant get in.
it is life. it is LIFE. i cant believe you gave this up. everything else will continue, but you gave up love.
i take more pills. i pace my room. i go to the bathroom and stare. i try to write. i try to watch something. i try to go numb and then my body starts aching. i am literally in pain from being without you. my limbs arent my limbs. my skin hurts. my eyes burn. the missing of someone you love is difficult but the missing of someone you love who doesnt belong to you anymore is unbearable. no, no, thats too nice of a word.
it is hell.
i was always so grateful to move before. every couple months was like flushing away the old, the bad, the sleepless nights (you can only count the panels in the ceiling, the cracks in the molding, the ribs under your flesh so many times) of some apartment, some home i couldnt live in anymore because of the memories it held of you. and now this place, this place i couldnt wait to show you ( i dreamed of sleeping beside you in this bed, of looking at the castle view from my window seat of showing you my writing desk, dont you understand?) this place has turned dangerous for me. at night i count car alarms and bottles breaking and i try to will you back.
now nothing exists. plans i had made, a life i had ahead of me, my dreams, because that is what they were, my dreams, are gone.
this does not swallow easily. i like to get what i want. what i am promised, i like to be given.
im spinning out of control up here, down here, in here.
(in my head, this country, this room)
and even here you are in everything. so intertwined with my life. little parts of ourselves had begun to cling together, had begun to flourish. i thought we had finally found our spring.
nothing is safe. not music. not food. not words. and especially not night. long, quiet night, i cant close my eyes because there you are. there is the life we arent living. there is everything we made.
we are driving in the rain from bodega after eating oysters out the back of your truck, jumping off a dock in cape cod at someones private beach, you drying off and getting dressed after a shower, over candle light last new years when we had the perfect meal, we toasted 2010, waking up and taking vito on walks, the smell of your skin, the night you said i love you and could barely get it out, its summer and bike rides and buenos aires and love notes and making you a tea was one of my favorite things to do, looking at you from across the room at a party and catching your eye, it was like we had a secret, it was the safest place to be. and then there is everything we havent done yet. its just floating around in my head. still there, still desired, mocking me, some cruel horrible joke. some secret garden and i cant get in.
it is life. it is LIFE. i cant believe you gave this up. everything else will continue, but you gave up love.
i take more pills. i pace my room. i go to the bathroom and stare. i try to write. i try to watch something. i try to go numb and then my body starts aching. i am literally in pain from being without you. my limbs arent my limbs. my skin hurts. my eyes burn. the missing of someone you love is difficult but the missing of someone you love who doesnt belong to you anymore is unbearable. no, no, thats too nice of a word.
it is hell.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
speechless
saying any of this out loud
to anyone
would be too illicit
the biggest secret
the most profound
lie
blasphemous, really
saying it out loud to anyone
would make it true
im not ready
for this
truth
i have been hiding from it for awhile
dont you think?
ever my muse
my inspiration
a subject matter i am familiar with
but hadnt visited recently
because its so much easier to write about sad
when youre happy
when you have distance, that sadness
isnt yours
but it will never be easy
to write about you
in past tense, like
when you were mine
to anyone
would be too illicit
the biggest secret
the most profound
lie
blasphemous, really
saying it out loud to anyone
would make it true
im not ready
for this
truth
i have been hiding from it for awhile
dont you think?
ever my muse
my inspiration
a subject matter i am familiar with
but hadnt visited recently
because its so much easier to write about sad
when youre happy
when you have distance, that sadness
isnt yours
but it will never be easy
to write about you
in past tense, like
when you were mine
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
my favorite game
my sister says im going to be okay.
and i know shes right.
because ive played this game before, and no one wins and no one loses.
soon, it will just be something i talk about in the past tense, like a lesson i teach.
loved, lost, lived
or something like that.
and i know shes right.
because ive played this game before, and no one wins and no one loses.
soon, it will just be something i talk about in the past tense, like a lesson i teach.
loved, lost, lived
or something like that.
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