One of these days or years someone might invent a time machine.
Then we could go back like you need.
Back to fix what I have stomped all over,
Broken then taped back together best I could.
But I have slippery fingers ( and eyes ) and I broke it again and again.
Until our time machine, reality tells me that the past is unamenable.
So accordingly this breakup was inevitable.
We can't return to the perfect beginning of us.
Perfect in your eyes but not in mine.
So I'm crying but I hope this is for the best.
No other option but to wait it out for a time machine.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
The abstract expressionists wanted
to
strip
their work of associations
yearning for pure emotion
I didn't understand
but now I do.
Every song I've heard before
heard now
reminds me of my hollow heart
voices and instruments as phantom limb-reminders.
So I find weird instrumentals
electronic
trip-hop
stuff I never liked, things with nothing tied to them.
No summer love
no winter warm kisses
or new year of uncertainty.
It's my escape
into some kind of sensation
for
now.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
"Could we find somewhere to sit? Do you know someplace with like, benches, and a fountain or something?"
He sips at an Icee, less of an Icee and more of a blend of colored sugar and foam because the machine is on the fritz.
Keeps asking he if I want some.
I give in, the idea of our tongues hooking onto the same straw
Slurping up the same brownish slush
Makes me warm.
I know it shouldn't,
that it's wrong to feel this way.
Back to the question,
"You mean like James Street?"
I answer, laugh
Then regret it.
He gets embarrassed
When I point out silly things he says.
He thinks I'm smarter than him.
He's too brilliant for that to be true.
He smiles and turns away his face,
Shyness, feigned or maybe not,
"I should have known that."
We go there now, that place it feels like I've been to hundreds of times with him
But realistically it's probably a few dozen at most.
I tell him it's alright, stop blushing.
So here we are, where we used to sit in a summer long past
I thought I could be with him forever,
Deep and premature infatuation
Though still lingering and creeping back into my fore-mind at the worst times
I feel that something's crept back into his as well.
He's acting nervous,
Keeps saying things and getting embarrassed for no reason.
My chest empties,
I think two years ago
I'd be happier with this.
But it's now.
When I'm home I drift to sleep with one question swimming in my head--
How many people can you love at once?
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
He's so sensitive and apologetic
when he remembers
he could lose me.
I like when he has to try.
Maybe he will change,
but who knows.
At least we're not married
with kids
and committed (fully).
Thank God.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
“Haaa,” I sighed, releasing these stale tensions.
“I know it’s not so fair to be upset,”
But talks of ultrasounds and interventions,
Tinge everything that’s right with mild regret.
I sometimes ache for life as told by family photo albums,
And could-be love, as written in that diary,
Since everything once bright eventually succumbs
To inevitable joy-expiry.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 4:35 PM UTC
I sometimes worry
The pages will fly by
I wonder if I read
Closely enough
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 7:18 PM UTC
It’s hard to live
A life un-private.
A seasonal home.
Sleeping on a loveseat,
In a room where the TV is always on.
Constant headaches.
Lights and sounds that stab.
She sits by screens
All
Day.
And wonders why she is sad.
I fear
It will begin to spread.
I can’t escape, especially not at night.
I think I’ll take a shower.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 7:26 PM UTC
There is nothing like a disaster,
To sweep me with relief.
Beforehand stress and sadness fester,
Rob tranquility like a thief.
But once the impact passes,
And I have straightened some things out,
There's nothing like a disaster,
To make me grateful for a drought.
Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 7:54 AM UTC
Having been in his chair all day,
It wasn't clear
I did not know.
I did not realize.
At nine years old,
Nine that day, January 1,
How could I be blamed?
I went on about life.
I was not grown,
I did not notice,
I knew no better.
In fact, I don't remember hearing...
My mother's frantic voice,
The intermittent sobs,
The paramedics pulling up.
But in the wake,
In the subsequent hours and days and YEARS,
Ten or eleven years,
I've grown. I understand...
Those things now give me chills just to acknowledge.
I still can not remember the commotion, but that's not what matters.
That disaster didn't shake me, you know.
But his absence is the loudest sound there is.
It's rang in my ears for the past decade or so.
It's the loudest sound I've ever heard.
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
I’m not sure if
we’ll really spend
our lives as one
sharing days
and
living life in tandem.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 4:22 PM UTC