it might not have been fair
but it was I, and your friend,
not against you, but perhaps it seemd so,
when we shared our ability to annoy and frustrate you
so well, so frequenty on that day we went up that mountain currahee
and to the falls both big and small
throguh the woods, on the trails,
recalling inside jokes, stories,
bothering you like only two close friends with intimate knowledge of who you are
could manage to
it was beautiful
thank you for introducing me to amanda

you asked me
why i looked at you
like i used to
when we were tangled up in
each other
I looked at you like that
because the first time this started
everything that happened
was a twisted and sad expression
of a love i really had
but was obscured
and i then, when i looked at you,
remembered it, realized
that in holding back in choosing for you what i knew you wanted and needed -
in admitting that it wasnt me- i was doing what was best for you -
and in that moment i was the best lover i could ever be to you.

Perfume that makes me rememebr late nights in the backseat of your car
you knew this, and so you wore it three times, and i could smell it from afar
i caught it as i walked by even across the room,
and i was overtaken by images
images so easy to sink back into -
so easy to want when everything else is so hard to do
i missed these when i shouldnt
they werent mine but stolen
i dont hold onto them but they hit me
like your perfume in my face
They linger in faint traces
when you leave the room

Recently i have been remembering my father. It is hard, but he is a man worth remembering. I do not know how everyone else saw him, but, despite his flaws, he was a great father and a great man. He was a man i was sure of the love of.. He showed me what that meant. I could see it in him. He had some out there thoughts, some strange views - maybe because he went through the 70s , maybe because that was just his head. But no matter that, he loved. The Lord, his wife, my wonderful mother, I , my brothers. I still find strands of his silver hair, even here, in toccoa, among my things. On his jacket. I am reminded of him by the things he left behind. and i remember the space he filled in my life. I never got the chance to right some of the things i regret- shrugging him off - arguing - avoiding him. But i know he forgives me. He is my father - that doesn't and has not changed. Through his passing i have learned that he truly was a great one, and i was sometimes shortsighted when he was still here. I have learned that where he fails - My father God will not. I have seen how he reflected God, and i have seen where he fell short in his humanity. He remains - not perfect - and i will not glorify him past what i believe he was - but an amazing picture of change and redemption through his life. He survived a lot that most men would have crumbled under. He did not run from things that many men would have shrank and hidden from. He made bad choices. But he did what he could to make them right. he lived fast sometimes, but he never forgot that slowing down is important to truly living as well. He may have screamed, yelled, or lost his temper, but at heart, he was a gentle man. He had the strength and the knowledge and the wit to cut people down, but he build them up, bridled his strength, was not a prideful man. He lost much, but he held on to what he still had. He was what a father should be. He was not a god, nor did he always lead with his values in a perfectly straight line. But he taught me to love my brothers. He taught me that blood was thicker. He taught me that God is always the one to go to when everything is wrecked - and you can always go to him even if it was you who wrecked those things. I wish we had seen more eye to eye. But i think, perhaps for our disagreements i found more of me. I think for his weakness, i was given strength. And i imagine i, through my stubbornness and temper similar to his own, challenged him to love daily. And he still did. I miss him.

He was renowned for his humility
even to his friends, he was fatherly,
he walked through life limping,
and yet in some way, his limp was triumph.
he had been told he would never walk again from his early 20s
he walked until the day he died what felt late in his 60s
he never abandoned those he loved
a father like no other
even when he was unsure if he was enough
he boxed my ears occasionally
sometimes he chewed me out for doing foolish things
but never did i think he did not love me
he told me almost every day until my teens
and then his voice got quiet, and i saw him less often
but he didn't have to say it
by then i understood
his was a love that -though a bit tough
a bit rough around the edges
stood. would always stand
perhaps a bit broken
but always, always there.
Daddy, without you
i would not be me.

Love is never about a placement list. It is not about if i love you more or less. It is about how i love you, not how much. And i love you differently than i could love anyone else.

There cannot be found a man who places me under more scrutiny than i place myself. Therefore, when i tell you something of myself, do not question its veracity.
Would that this statement were all encompassing,
but for my softening of my own knowing, and for my unknowings of my own blindnesses,
i entreat you, question me, and question me often.