- You seem to love everything and everyone.
Actually… I can’t stand most things or people. I just choose to fill my life with what I love and only invest myself into things I love. I chose my job because I love what I do. I chose my closest friends because I love them as people. I choose to live here because I love this house. I love my girlfriend. I love my dog. I love the movies and the books on my shelves. I love how I spend my time. I even love the way I struggle because I love the reason I’m struggling. Isn’t that the point of having your own life and the ability to choose? So that you can fill it with what you love? I ignore and let go of the rest. The rest is meaningless. It took me a long time and a lot of loss to learn that. My advice is to learn that quicker than I did.
You said that one day while I was sleeping you would fall out of my heart and someone else would fill it up and I would wake up not knowing the difference…
Today I woke up empty.
An apology I should give… and would dread to receive.
To all the people who opened their arms and heart and beds to me, the ones who trembled late nights just to spit out the three words they had been waiting so long to say, who held on too tight and always searched for the happy endings that my insincerity seemed to spin into a dizzy reality for…
It was somewhere around 3:30 am and it was wet outside. We were parked on the side of the street in front of my house because it felt less bad that way. She was in the driver’s seat and my head was in her lap. She continuously ran her fingers through my hair and it made me smile.
"I thought you didn’t like fingernails."
-I thought you didn’t like girls.
"I don’t know what I like anymore."
-From what I saw tonight… boys with tattoos and long hair who sing in bands that yell a lot…
"I’m tired of it though. I love it and I’m tired of it at the same time. I don’t want to do it anymore. They are all the same."
-Then there is me.
She put her finger on my forehead.
"… And then there is this thing."
There was this girl. She was a once upon a time kind of girl. She was a once I had a dream kind of girl. She was a girl that created a moment kind of girl. She was a fairytale. She had light perfect skin and dark almond eyes. Her hair fell around her face like water flows through a current. She had this name that made voices louder when it was said out loud and letters bolder when it was written down. She was that girl. In every room she was that girl. The kind of girl who could say no and yes at the same time and still get what she wanted. She was the girl that you wanted to know… Needed to know… Had to know… Once she looked at me this girl… Once she looked at me and she smiled this smile that sent beams of light through my chest that were so bright they came out of my eyes and a little of my ears…. The beams were so bright that my heart beat at a rate that could’ve killed me but it would have been such a pleasant death at that time… She was also the kind of girl that you can’t keep. She’s only temporary… She has a face that only the rarest of flowers can wear the colors of… And when you pick flowers they die slow deaths in front of your eyes… She was the kind of girl that was so beautiful she caused a silence… She muted life… With just one look… She made the whole world… quiet.
You were standing beside the road just like yesterday or maybe a week ago. Hands at your side and not looking my way. With a sigh I pulled over slow. Your head just as quick, eyes glazing over me in that “gray or blue” I can’t tell which, kind of way. Opening the door you climbed in and I devoured every detail. Your hair tied up, fingernails unpainted, lips pulled tight in a grim line. It wasn’t the first time that I wondered what type of kiss it would take. To soften them, not seduce. I noticed a new wound in your jeans and wondered who you were escaping the night it appeared.
We drove in silence, as ever before. Unlike our first trip when I flooded you with questions and comments, I had slowly subsided into silent altruism. Though I’m not sure which you preferred. The truck bounced with every change in the road. You held on tightly, staring straight ahead. Nothing was different, this trip was the same as everyone before. But I felt it, the tension. Even in your silence I could tell that this would be the last time I stopped for you. We pulled into the gas station. The abandoned one across from the grain elevator in town. You opened the door, grabbed your bag (which I had always admired for its colourful needlework) and stepped down out of the truck. You hesitated then, and I braced myself. “This will be the last time”, you mumbled, looking down at your feet.
You probably knew me by then. That I would do anything in a heartbeat. That I was ready for the late nights and the tears and the failed attempts only to try and try again until everything was finally ok. You only had to climb back in. I wanted to scream, to shout, to ask you why and where and who and when, but most of all hold you tight, a shield from all the heartache. Giving peace and destroying pain in one single surge of emotion completely dedicated to you.
But instead I just nodded, my lips tightened, imitating yours. A strange thing happened then. I half expected you to look up at me and explain it all. Indecision, maybe, flashed through your mind. However fate prevailed and you walked off. Turning the corner of the building without another word. I knew that I would never see you again. And it was awhile before I would be ok with that.
If you’ve ever sat in a group of your close friends and tried to tell your story but it was pushed down by all their stories and dulled out by the “I know how you feel” responses… This is for you.
If you’ve ever heard the advice coming out of someone else’s mouth that you knew was the right thing to listen to but you covered your ears with what you want them to be saying instead… This is for you.
If you’ve ever been angry at the thousands of girls who shed tears of obsession over the lead singer of the band that sings songs about not giving up on the woman he loves… Or you hate the thousands of girls who say “I wish it was me.” when they watch the boy in the movie fight for the girl… Simply because in the real world that singer is you and that boy is you but the girl is just annoyed… This is for you.
If you’ve ever had conversations with an imaginary version of who you desperately want to be speaking to because you want to feel listened to … This is for you.
This is for all of you and all of us. This is for every single one of us who bite our tongues because if we speak it’s pointless. This is for all of us who are sleeping alone because the person you love is sleeping with someone else. This is for all of us who haven’t reached that day when we will meet someone else who will move us on and erase the past. This is for those of us who have met someone who loves us but we are having trouble loving them back because our hearts are in vices that have faces. This is for all of us who are being pushed forward by life but desire to go backwards instead. This is for those who are not comforted by the idea that there are others who feel the same because we want to believe we feel something no one else does.
This is for all of us who love unconditionally and have no choice. This is for those of us who are left behind by the one’s we love and the only reason we are given that makes sense is life. This is for the ones that are told they mean the most yet there is someone else. This is for all of us who are brave enough to not bury our heads in feel better schemes and bullshit attempts at a change of heart. This is for everyone who believes in how they feel and won’t let it be taken or belittled.
This is for you because nothing else is really for us.
Let us take a sack of spray paint and spray paint over the paintings.
Lets dance through Paris;
kiss in the shadow of the louve,
crawl inside its windows,
scroll manifesto’s over its canvas’,
write morris’ code on the sculputers,
roll a sleeping bag on the floors to sleep inside of, tell one another a story by flashlight,
unearth everything from before,
burry each other inside the other,
feed grapes to the ants,
light fireworks in the fists of sleeping kings; kill a monarch.
Break back outside and find a world to do all these same things to;
up and upon against break the bricks, climb over them,
and when the sirens scream,
laugh aloud,hold my hand and run fast.
Run through the streets with me with a bunch of bottles,
a bucket of gasoline,
a mouthful of matches,
a pocket full of paintings and fresh faced batch of policemen to chase the fires we are lighting,
laugh on a shoulder of gold.
And I thought that the museums were cemetaries where the dead paid the wall to hold what we had so that we could walk through what we once were,
And children take their sculls to turn into gardens,
to pluck for forefathers and farther stars,
that on some nights resemble an armless mother praying for her arms to return.
Every tooth that we tear from our jaw to fling at the black gloved riot soldiers as another shadow that we are trying to lose.
Let every giggle be filled with lust; let us laugh this night away and I will fuck you like you were a prayer.
I could save me by having my mouth around you,
and I will hold you afterwards like you were the pullpit and I was the sky,
and this love that danced between that hardness was a telephone line of holiness that those two things spoke through.
Take me into your heart like I was a saint,
and you were a face of forgivenss blooming in a valley destined to sink further.
Be a river with me;
Be the storm;
the bend in the path;
the front porch; the heat in the south;
be a boot full of banjo strings;
a fist full of written songs;
a mouthfull of chocolate dust.
When they come to take us,
stab them between the eyes.
Do not take your hand from around mine.
Make a fist with the other, and punch spines like guilds, spit, sweat, kiss them like a grandmother. How will open mouthed terror love filled?
And when they come to cut out hair and ask to hear pennince come from inside us,
say with me loud and trembling,
but loud and clear that:
"I have already emptied myself. I kissed regret goodbye, took the hands of another backwards angel, and rode backwards into the rain"
When the hangman of morrow comes to hang the sun in its daily execution say this with me: “Sarah we are apples, our love is an apple; I’m unbuttoning my shirt; painting a circle over my heart, please… Just shoot straight.”