some connections can't be adequately explained
freezing wind and gilded ceilings, mousy brown roots
on bubblegum hair
keeping a scarf in place is too hard, and staying inside is too easy
(the bottom has cobblestones)
why is there is only such thing as effortless
when the air is cold enough to burn?
(the best veins are beneath the lids of my eyes)
if footsteps don't echo there's neither point nor interest
menthol, sorbitol, glycerin, xanthan
I exhale mint when I breathe in the world.

the smooth yet sharp mint
of the menthol between my lips
will never give me the satisfaction
that you could

Some associate a faded mint
with either the speckled mint chocolate
chip ice cream from their nearest shop
or the chipped colors on her fingernails
that were the perfect spring shade.
Personally, I recall the sign
at the café down the street
from my cramped two bedroom
apartment that the three of us shared
after they separated,
soaked with nostalgia and resentment
and appreciation for the new home
I share with our new addition
in a much nicer city
where all the houses are beige
cookie cutter resemblances,
but I can take refuge in my car
for the night and not fear
what lies outside the frosted window.

*April 14, 2014 8:54:27 PM

Strep throat. Out of nowhere really. I went to a meeting on Friday, interviewed at PaperSource on Saturday afternoon, and then just slightly later an awful toothache. I never suspected anything so out of the ordinary to occur. Saturday night, two to four a.m.ish, i thought it was caffeine pills, or not drinking enough water, or even, worst of the worst, an attack of hypochondria. I kept lighting up Marlboros though, tasty red branded things that make writer's mouths happy. Two days in and I'm pretty sure my ***** are a fever below my body, droopy like snoopy. Super soft droopy *****, that's a sure sign of a fever or a great BJ they taught us in 6th grade science, and I wasn't getting my favorite ice cream social.

I hadn't talked to the gf in a couple days, and missing her company I made the phone call only discover that my voice had turned into a baby turtle shouting English from the bottom of a stuffed baked potato. Garbled. Discussing. Useless. I promptly hung up, and began texting. But it was too late she heard me and called back, and I had to give it all I had to put together a few words.

An hour later I was dropped off at the ER, the benefits of Medicaid at 30 is never being able to just go to the doctor's office. Within 2 hours they told me it was strep. Four nurses, two residents, one first day resident, and a 2nd year resident, and the ER doctor for a swab and a spray, and the take home Z-pack.

Then she said she'd come over even though I was sick. That's real love. "If I get sick from you, it's still worth it." 3 days on antibiotics, no more sore throat, I feel great- I think tomorrow I'll be having an ice cream social for someone who I love dearly. Maybe we'll even skip the ice cream.

when i think of you
i feel life trapped.
when i think of you
i feel one hundred years of melancholy
lusting after the sun,
but being unable to look upwards
at it
because of how easily and effortlessly
it can burn a hole through the dark
that has become home.

when i think of you
the single time we met
i feel forgotten fields
the color of mint,
a body of love idling
left to rot,
lilies thrown in the dirt
because your hands have forgotten how to hold them,
the first page of a novel scanned
and then discarded,
like the obituary of an old friend
you could have called back
(but didn't).

but see, that's all just silly
because, truthfully, i know nothing (about you)
aside from your name;
aside from the ocean being too deep and wide and blue
to find comfort
or peace from the earth,
though the earth will not move
because she herself holds many fearless, crazed oceans
within her
that have yet to be named.

Your eyes reminded me of snow; cold and impatient. There was a blizzard in your soul waiting to explode.

You were so young... I remember it like yesterday. You held my hand and we laughed about the weather and the clouds above us. You were so naive.

Your lips tasted like mint. They were always there for me when I was down or needed comforting. Waiting to tell me things I needed to hear; a taste of something special for once.

You were so wild. Such a vagabond always looking for the next chapter to write about. Sparks always flew from your heart with passion I could never understand. You were so free.

If this would help me make sense of this disaster that happened I would write forever. I don't know why it had to end this way. I don't know where the adventure went the day you died.

But my heart is like your snowy eyes; cold and distant.
And my lips are chapped and taste like blood from biting my tongue; holding down the tears I've built up in a matter of hours.
And my soul has aged... Wild and free was never for me.
You were so young...