it used to be infatuation
captivation is
strange sometimes
strawberry sunglasses
and i miss you
smell of redwoods and tomato
dirt, earthy, she says
like a book i read, underlined
i want to see you
at lunchtime
over a sandwich
you eat too fast, never
linger
ive learned to go
slow
lets be responsible
quit saying everything happens for
a reason, right
were not in charge
until we are
tight memorization
that clear mind of yours, after
rain predictions
some massive evening
a super summer sunset
don't forget to hold her close
just when you think
she's letting go
passover passenger, let
me teach you something
about regret
try taking photos while
riding bikes
to answer your question
what type of expiration
do we have?
don't ask me again
i want so many things
and those freckles, they
never quite
added up
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
no one calls, no one writes
everyday that city is slipping from my reach, holding less and less of the people i love and more things turn to memories, filed away, dont open until christmas, dusty, basement/attic boxes, curled photographs and brown edged books, letters, things, just things that im starting to feel less and less about.
afton says when youre not physically there you just dont exist and im finding that very true.
one day you were my best friend, the next day you were gone. you dont exist in my life anymore. we are strangers. i cant remember your smell, its faded from most of my clothes, too many nights needed to be washed out. i close my eyes under the shower head in the morning and wish myself back to that place but i cant, i cant, there is a block in my heart, some artery, the vessel that rode the blood, the thoughts of you, the vein that drove you directly through my body, in my skin, in me, has closed. im sorry, i wanted to keep it open but this is the only way i know how. its sad, i didnt feel it. i just woke up one morning and i couldnt feel you anymore. and i cried for hours. not over you, but of the loss, the way my body closed itself off without me knowing. how this will affect my future, how this dulls my eyes and my skin goes dry and i lose weight in funny places and in photos i look old, tired. the magic is gone. you dont call, you dont write.
im learning not to give up. im learning to not take things so personally. some people just arent good at this sort of thing and i understand that. i know its not my fault anymore. i know its not my fault everyones to busy to keep in touch. i just feel that hole in my heart that was open for san francisco, that was filled with all of you, i feel it closing every day. and jo told me that would happen, she warned me. i just didnt realize this is how it would feel. forceful, final and claustrophobic. that city isnt mine anymore. without an address, a home, not even a piece of clothing, not even a book lingers in a room, in a house in that city. ive got nothing there.
but here, in this stupid fucking city that i curse everyday for the ways it pushes me, stresses me out and makes me feel defeated i am making a home. im accumulating things, collecting books, clothes, papers, friends that in months i will leave behind for a new adventure. here, ive got all i own in one room, all my things could fit into two suitcases. i can live on much less, i am living on much much less. and while i think of you everyday, every single day, i dont think of making a home with you. i try not to get nostalgic about the way our clothes used to mingle together in the laundry on weekends, how i used to wash dishes after you made dinner, how we showered together, same shampoo, face wash, soap, toweled off and id wear your sweats in the mornings and make you eggs. that doesnt exist anymore. some girl is living in that apartment now and she never calls and never writes so i dont really know what to make of any of it.
ive stopped thinking about you san francisco. sometimes on the tv a show will come on set in SF and i just turn the channel. you were always so hard to live with, never gave anything back, you took me for granted really. and ive got a new city to live in now. one that might fuck with me, might make me cry, in fact ive cried more in the last couple months than i have in my whole life but it challenges me. i dont feel dead here...not anymore. winter will be over soon and im ready to come out of hibernation i think. this city is trying to wake me the fuck up.
dont get too busy for me. i still need you. i still want you in my life. so please, dont forget to write.
afton says when youre not physically there you just dont exist and im finding that very true.
one day you were my best friend, the next day you were gone. you dont exist in my life anymore. we are strangers. i cant remember your smell, its faded from most of my clothes, too many nights needed to be washed out. i close my eyes under the shower head in the morning and wish myself back to that place but i cant, i cant, there is a block in my heart, some artery, the vessel that rode the blood, the thoughts of you, the vein that drove you directly through my body, in my skin, in me, has closed. im sorry, i wanted to keep it open but this is the only way i know how. its sad, i didnt feel it. i just woke up one morning and i couldnt feel you anymore. and i cried for hours. not over you, but of the loss, the way my body closed itself off without me knowing. how this will affect my future, how this dulls my eyes and my skin goes dry and i lose weight in funny places and in photos i look old, tired. the magic is gone. you dont call, you dont write.
im learning not to give up. im learning to not take things so personally. some people just arent good at this sort of thing and i understand that. i know its not my fault anymore. i know its not my fault everyones to busy to keep in touch. i just feel that hole in my heart that was open for san francisco, that was filled with all of you, i feel it closing every day. and jo told me that would happen, she warned me. i just didnt realize this is how it would feel. forceful, final and claustrophobic. that city isnt mine anymore. without an address, a home, not even a piece of clothing, not even a book lingers in a room, in a house in that city. ive got nothing there.
but here, in this stupid fucking city that i curse everyday for the ways it pushes me, stresses me out and makes me feel defeated i am making a home. im accumulating things, collecting books, clothes, papers, friends that in months i will leave behind for a new adventure. here, ive got all i own in one room, all my things could fit into two suitcases. i can live on much less, i am living on much much less. and while i think of you everyday, every single day, i dont think of making a home with you. i try not to get nostalgic about the way our clothes used to mingle together in the laundry on weekends, how i used to wash dishes after you made dinner, how we showered together, same shampoo, face wash, soap, toweled off and id wear your sweats in the mornings and make you eggs. that doesnt exist anymore. some girl is living in that apartment now and she never calls and never writes so i dont really know what to make of any of it.
ive stopped thinking about you san francisco. sometimes on the tv a show will come on set in SF and i just turn the channel. you were always so hard to live with, never gave anything back, you took me for granted really. and ive got a new city to live in now. one that might fuck with me, might make me cry, in fact ive cried more in the last couple months than i have in my whole life but it challenges me. i dont feel dead here...not anymore. winter will be over soon and im ready to come out of hibernation i think. this city is trying to wake me the fuck up.
dont get too busy for me. i still need you. i still want you in my life. so please, dont forget to write.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
i cant bring you back with memories
nights like these im exhausted but cant sleep, hungover and water logged, anxious and sentimental. my skin growing hot every time i think of you, starting below my shoulders, up through my neck and behind my ears, its dizzying really, and i think of water, cool, rushing water, how i want to submerge myself, how i want that silence, that drone, that liquid buzz and when i come up for air, everything will feel better. everything will be how it was.
nights like these i think of watching you dress in the mornings from bed, one of my favorite things to do. i think of you naked, of your skin after a shower, of falling asleep while you worked in the other room, coming in hours later, sliding in next to me, the way my bed feels so unoccupied here, i still get in on the right side, try to take up as little room as possible before the emptiness is too much and i spread my arms and legs out to the four corners and hope that sleep will come, but it rarely does.
nights like these im reminded of those first few hours, first few days, that hollowness in my chest opens up and i cant breathe, i dont recognize myself in the mirror and i hardly speak all day. i want to turn my brain off but i cant bare it, the thinking of you, the not thinking of you.
nights like these i know i cant bring you back with memories. i cant begin to understand how my life changed so drastically in one day, in 12 hours. one night im calling you darling, lover, dear and the next i can hardly get your name out, i can hardly look myself in the mirror, i cant smile, i cant see straight. nights like these i want you to take back all those terrible words, i want to go back, move back, leave, jump ship, fly to you, beg, cry and scream and pound on your chest, make some drastic gesture, put all my cards on the table, be reckless, do something crazy, but i dont. it wouldnt change anything, nights like these dont change anything about the past, they move you forward, grudgingly, forward.
nights like these i think of watching you dress in the mornings from bed, one of my favorite things to do. i think of you naked, of your skin after a shower, of falling asleep while you worked in the other room, coming in hours later, sliding in next to me, the way my bed feels so unoccupied here, i still get in on the right side, try to take up as little room as possible before the emptiness is too much and i spread my arms and legs out to the four corners and hope that sleep will come, but it rarely does.
nights like these im reminded of those first few hours, first few days, that hollowness in my chest opens up and i cant breathe, i dont recognize myself in the mirror and i hardly speak all day. i want to turn my brain off but i cant bare it, the thinking of you, the not thinking of you.
nights like these i know i cant bring you back with memories. i cant begin to understand how my life changed so drastically in one day, in 12 hours. one night im calling you darling, lover, dear and the next i can hardly get your name out, i can hardly look myself in the mirror, i cant smile, i cant see straight. nights like these i want you to take back all those terrible words, i want to go back, move back, leave, jump ship, fly to you, beg, cry and scream and pound on your chest, make some drastic gesture, put all my cards on the table, be reckless, do something crazy, but i dont. it wouldnt change anything, nights like these dont change anything about the past, they move you forward, grudgingly, forward.
Friday, July 9, 2010
colors
today daniel and i go shopping for a new guitar, my birthday present to myself, and its a beautiful day, warm enough to walk without a sweater on and let my tattoo breathe. daniel is the ideal male specimen but i am emotionally bankrupt and he has a wonderful girlfriend so our friendship is completely platonic and easy. we walk the streets of san diego, go into every music store and try different guitars for hours. the silence is welcome and comfortable and he always opens doors for me and talks to me in this sort of brotherly way that makes me feel safe and so its a perfect afternoon.
we stop for sodas, a coke for me and a fanta for him and i tell him as we pass the plaza de san francisco that fanta has at least 12 cups of sugar in one can. he seems alarmed but not overwhelmingly so and we continue walking. the architecture in this part of the city is my favorite, old crumbling buildings and broken out diamond shaped windows, towering balconies and bullgonia flowers spilling through cracks in walks, chain link fences and like weeds running purple and scarlet. we walk past one of the oldest churches in chile, dating back to the 1600s and we both get quiet for a minute as we pass before he asks me some silly question and i half punch his shoulder on the crowded street, making him bump into a group of girls, who scowl then giggle and he spills fanta down his chin and we laugh.
we go to tip top, the most talked about cookie place in santiago, which ive never been to before. he says to me, im kind of starving, can we get a snack. and i laugh at the juxtaposition of those two words. he says why dont we go over to this place thats close by and buy a bunch of cookies. this strikes me as odd. i never eat cookies. theyre just not my thing. but here in santiago, people are crazy for cookies, even eating them for breakfast. at tip top it is insanely crowded and like most places in the centro you get a number and wait for it to be called. it is fairly efficient and extremely annoying, waiting for the little red lights to flash your number, giving you five seconds or less to reach them before they pass on to the next person. but waiting with daniel is pleasant, we stand outside on the street and people watch, its friday afternoon and people are getting of work, leaving early for the weekend, buying hats and scarves and hair pins from street vendors and we just sip our sodas in silence and watch. i feel like im 15 and waiting for something big to happen, something grand, but with that underlying feeling that things will stay just the same.
when our number is called we wait for our pound of cookies anxiously, they put an assortment in and you get what you get although daniel asks for extra of a thin crispy brandy kind and the lady hesitates before he smiles at her and she melts, like girls do around him and puts five more in the bag, all stuck together, warm and sticky sweet.
we walk a couple more blocks just eating cookies, they are so good and doughy and fresh that we begin singing songs to our cookies while crossing the street. love songs, silly elaborate songs to our afternoon treats as we cross streets with names that mean something to me. santa rosa, paris, san francisco, serena, benjamin vacuna and so on and so on.
by the time we get back to the first guitar store we have walked the centro up and down and its getting dark. i go to the post office to leave some mail, packaged nicely and with care and daniel appreciates my hand designed envelopes, says he never gets any mail and we decide to find pen pals, but not each other, people we dont already feel we know so much about.
at the music store i go back to the first guitar i tried. a bright blue steel string acoustic and its just calling to me. he says, i knew you wanted that one all along and i ask why he let me walk all over the city looking at other guitars when the one i wanted was the first one i saw. and he said, it was a beautiful day to look at guitars, just to make sure, this is the one you want. and besides, we wouldnt have had the cookies.
he is right, though, i think, as we head back to my house, sopapillas for dinner and palta and wine and i cant help thinking that we have to make this journey, we have to do many things, see many places, play many different guitars to know what is right. even if we knew from the start. because along the way, there will be familiar street names, a lot of laughter and of course, cookies.
we stop for sodas, a coke for me and a fanta for him and i tell him as we pass the plaza de san francisco that fanta has at least 12 cups of sugar in one can. he seems alarmed but not overwhelmingly so and we continue walking. the architecture in this part of the city is my favorite, old crumbling buildings and broken out diamond shaped windows, towering balconies and bullgonia flowers spilling through cracks in walks, chain link fences and like weeds running purple and scarlet. we walk past one of the oldest churches in chile, dating back to the 1600s and we both get quiet for a minute as we pass before he asks me some silly question and i half punch his shoulder on the crowded street, making him bump into a group of girls, who scowl then giggle and he spills fanta down his chin and we laugh.
we go to tip top, the most talked about cookie place in santiago, which ive never been to before. he says to me, im kind of starving, can we get a snack. and i laugh at the juxtaposition of those two words. he says why dont we go over to this place thats close by and buy a bunch of cookies. this strikes me as odd. i never eat cookies. theyre just not my thing. but here in santiago, people are crazy for cookies, even eating them for breakfast. at tip top it is insanely crowded and like most places in the centro you get a number and wait for it to be called. it is fairly efficient and extremely annoying, waiting for the little red lights to flash your number, giving you five seconds or less to reach them before they pass on to the next person. but waiting with daniel is pleasant, we stand outside on the street and people watch, its friday afternoon and people are getting of work, leaving early for the weekend, buying hats and scarves and hair pins from street vendors and we just sip our sodas in silence and watch. i feel like im 15 and waiting for something big to happen, something grand, but with that underlying feeling that things will stay just the same.
when our number is called we wait for our pound of cookies anxiously, they put an assortment in and you get what you get although daniel asks for extra of a thin crispy brandy kind and the lady hesitates before he smiles at her and she melts, like girls do around him and puts five more in the bag, all stuck together, warm and sticky sweet.
we walk a couple more blocks just eating cookies, they are so good and doughy and fresh that we begin singing songs to our cookies while crossing the street. love songs, silly elaborate songs to our afternoon treats as we cross streets with names that mean something to me. santa rosa, paris, san francisco, serena, benjamin vacuna and so on and so on.
by the time we get back to the first guitar store we have walked the centro up and down and its getting dark. i go to the post office to leave some mail, packaged nicely and with care and daniel appreciates my hand designed envelopes, says he never gets any mail and we decide to find pen pals, but not each other, people we dont already feel we know so much about.
at the music store i go back to the first guitar i tried. a bright blue steel string acoustic and its just calling to me. he says, i knew you wanted that one all along and i ask why he let me walk all over the city looking at other guitars when the one i wanted was the first one i saw. and he said, it was a beautiful day to look at guitars, just to make sure, this is the one you want. and besides, we wouldnt have had the cookies.
he is right, though, i think, as we head back to my house, sopapillas for dinner and palta and wine and i cant help thinking that we have to make this journey, we have to do many things, see many places, play many different guitars to know what is right. even if we knew from the start. because along the way, there will be familiar street names, a lot of laughter and of course, cookies.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
goodnight moon
its been an emotional day. being sick makes me more sensitive, more nostalgic, more pained. literally my whole body aches. i cant stop thinking about your skin. about your smell, your laugh, your hands, the way you sleep. all these little details we know about each other.
today we talk like strangers because somehow that is what we have become. the way people lose themselves in each other is the same way people lose each other by themselves...over time.
it has been almost 3 months since i saw you last. an entire season has changed. and so have we.
today we talk like strangers because somehow that is what we have become. the way people lose themselves in each other is the same way people lose each other by themselves...over time.
it has been almost 3 months since i saw you last. an entire season has changed. and so have we.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
endings
at night i count
my bones
and remember where
your body fit against
them
i move slowly over
hips and wrists
get caught on elbows and
neglected ribcage
linger over last i love yous
and try to imagine
what forever feels like
on the body
where is sits
and how it changes
with time
the last time you kissed me
was on a street corner
in buenos aires
outside a cab waiting to
take me to the airport
and i watched you grow small
turn the corner
your shoulders slumped
and it would have been
romantic
if it hadnt been the last time
if there were more kisses
more plane rides
more
just more
it would have been...
what would it have been?
my bones
and remember where
your body fit against
them
i move slowly over
hips and wrists
get caught on elbows and
neglected ribcage
linger over last i love yous
and try to imagine
what forever feels like
on the body
where is sits
and how it changes
with time
the last time you kissed me
was on a street corner
in buenos aires
outside a cab waiting to
take me to the airport
and i watched you grow small
turn the corner
your shoulders slumped
and it would have been
romantic
if it hadnt been the last time
if there were more kisses
more plane rides
more
just more
it would have been...
what would it have been?
Thursday, July 1, 2010
pre-party
im sitting down to write every day, sitting down to work.
its the most ive ever written in my whole life and its not even that much and so im excited about what i am about to do. it feels like things are finally coming together, at least in one area of my life, things are working, things are flowing.
its different this time, im giving it my full attention, im trying, im actually making efforts, feeling disciplined and hungry and in turn my writing is twisting and moving and giving back to me. something great has changed inside of me and it feels like im writing from a new place now.
and its not just wine fueled, night fueled rants. its so much more than that. i cant really see where its going, im in it right now but im writing, writing writing through it.
yesterday i flooded our entire apartment and i felt so stupid and incompetent and now every sheet and towel and piece of clothing we own is hanging from every possible place, door, ledge to dry. in the afternoon, with the windows up, edges of sheets ive slept on flap in the breeze little little flags.
today is the last day of my 24th year and it is melancholy. i walk for hours around providencia trying to find a store i once went into in the first months i moved here and i take turns and back track and get on and off buses and i cant find it, its like it was never there.
every day i think of you. for different reasons now. its not a constant, throbbing, blinding thought but a dull ache, it comes in intense bursts, and it is more painful this way. because for a couple hours i was fine and then, BAM, ill see a shop with handmade hats, scarves and ties and realize i have no one to buy them for. and there you are again and i feel guilty and sad and angry at myself for everything, for the way that it is, for the way i cant fix anything, change anything. for how my life is still happening, still moving without you.
tomorrow is my birthday and it feels like such a big deal. a birthday of many firsts. not a single person that will come to my party has known me for more than 4 months, some not even four days, but they are my family now. they are making a party for me and want me to know that i am loved. as lonely as i felt today, walking the grey dirty hustling streets, i felt loved.
i feel it, all the way from here, wherever and whoever you are that is sending it, i feel it.
thank you.
its the most ive ever written in my whole life and its not even that much and so im excited about what i am about to do. it feels like things are finally coming together, at least in one area of my life, things are working, things are flowing.
its different this time, im giving it my full attention, im trying, im actually making efforts, feeling disciplined and hungry and in turn my writing is twisting and moving and giving back to me. something great has changed inside of me and it feels like im writing from a new place now.
and its not just wine fueled, night fueled rants. its so much more than that. i cant really see where its going, im in it right now but im writing, writing writing through it.
yesterday i flooded our entire apartment and i felt so stupid and incompetent and now every sheet and towel and piece of clothing we own is hanging from every possible place, door, ledge to dry. in the afternoon, with the windows up, edges of sheets ive slept on flap in the breeze little little flags.
today is the last day of my 24th year and it is melancholy. i walk for hours around providencia trying to find a store i once went into in the first months i moved here and i take turns and back track and get on and off buses and i cant find it, its like it was never there.
every day i think of you. for different reasons now. its not a constant, throbbing, blinding thought but a dull ache, it comes in intense bursts, and it is more painful this way. because for a couple hours i was fine and then, BAM, ill see a shop with handmade hats, scarves and ties and realize i have no one to buy them for. and there you are again and i feel guilty and sad and angry at myself for everything, for the way that it is, for the way i cant fix anything, change anything. for how my life is still happening, still moving without you.
tomorrow is my birthday and it feels like such a big deal. a birthday of many firsts. not a single person that will come to my party has known me for more than 4 months, some not even four days, but they are my family now. they are making a party for me and want me to know that i am loved. as lonely as i felt today, walking the grey dirty hustling streets, i felt loved.
i feel it, all the way from here, wherever and whoever you are that is sending it, i feel it.
thank you.
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