please let me go i said please let me go i said but i knew the heart was the strongest muscle and that it wont let go even though i want it to.
a young boy once told me that love was just a bird trying to fly higher and i believed him so i jumped out of the window.
a bird told me a young boy was just a broken heart trying to get healed so i killed the bird with two stones.
a beekeeper told me my love was enough but i didnt believe her so i left her alone in her house with her cats and her bottles of alcohol.
the last time you saw me cry i was in a sweater and jeans and i looked at you and i knew you understood why i was crying but neither of us could make ourselves say it.
neither of us wanted to understand even though we did.
it was nothing like the last time i saw you cry on your bed in california sitting with your knees up and your arms around them twining around them and you said help me and i said i dont know what to do.
i put my arms around you and i held you and we rocked there silently together, back and forth back and forth.
like the last time we made love on my bed it smelled like something sharp in the room around us and the sun was setting slowly in the west.
you said ” this was a long time coming”
and i laughed and pulled you closer
i remember cumming with you and feeling your sweat on my body and your voice in my ear and hearing you say “i love you”
i remember laying with you and talking with you about nothing in particular.
i remember you putting your clothes back on.
i remember crying after you left.
i remember pulling my knees up to my chest.
rocking back and forth
back and forth
back and forth
we were somewhere in a city and walking around and i turned to you and asked for a cigarette you said yes here have one and i smoked it in silence with your arm around me and it was around me and it was good and somehow we were no longer in that city but in my bed and you were deep inside of me and i was on the brink and you started to cry and i held you and sang something to you but i dont remember what it was.
When we met my life was falling apart.
And I am not saying that you saved me or that you rescued me from the disaster which was myself but rather that you changed the course of my life in such a drastic way that if you not for you, my life would have gone a completely different way. I didn’t mean to attach too much hope to you, but like a bird to a glass window I kept going back to you expecting that something would change, hoping that somehow I could fly through you and be inside of you forever, that you could keep me safe from all the evil and hurt in the world and that you would finally love me the way I needed to be loved. I kept wishing that each day we were apart would somehow make the days when we were together be beautiful but even though they were, and they really were, something was always missing for you. I was never enough no matter how hard I tried to make you happy sometimes it was not enough.
You had moods. Some days were worse than others. Some days I wasn’t sure where we stood or how you felt about me. When I was with you in California some days you would wake up and be the man I fell in love with and hold me close and kiss me and I would lay there awake next to you sleeping and feel like the happiest and luckiest woman in the world. We would get up late make breakfast and watch a movie or go on a walk around the neighborhood with your old dog that I loved and that loved me.
But then some days you would wake up and turn away from me and all I would see would be the knobs and bones of your back and the slow rhythm of your breath. Those were the days I hated. Those were the days I would sit on the curb outside your house and wait with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. I would soak up the early August sun and close my eyes and wish I was home. I would cry.
You would come out minutes maybe hours later and we would talk but it always gave me a bad feeling to hear you say “I’m sorry.”
You once told me that you occurred in waves. And that sometimes you didn’t know who you would wake up to be or if you would still love me in the morning
I never really understood what you meant by that until it was too late.
My heart ached for you from the day I met you and it still does.
When I see myself in ten years I see you close behind me, keeping step.
(We have been close for so long. We have been apart for so long)
I keep trying to find a way to describe how you made and still make me feel. But the only thing I can come up with is the sound of the cello. That is the closest thing that can even begin to scratch the surface of how you make me feel.
The days start to blur together and that’s when you realize you have a problem.
You stop being able to distinguish one from the other.
And you start to wonder if this is how your life will be from now on.
Just useless hours spent reading a book you don’t even like, surrounded by people you like even less.
Listening to the top 40 in the car on the way to town and gazing out the window you see the trees go speeding past you and you want to tell the driver to slow down but you know he won’t listen so you grab hold of the car door and hang on as the sun sets and the day turns into night.
Sometimes you wonder where your life would have gone if you hadn’t been accepted here.
Maybe you would have gone to community college and gotten high with the wrong people and maybe you would have been happier because you wouldn’t have met her but then if you hadn’t met her then where would you be?
She was all you remembered the mornings after the drunken nights.
She was the light at the end of your tunnel.
But you push those thoughts away and you keep your eyes on the horizon.
The dining hall is basically empty except for a few paper writers and coffee drinkers, absorbed in their liquid or glued to their computer screens. You take out your notebook and pen and sit by the window on the upper level. You keep looking up from your page and wishing that somebody would sit by you, but then regret that thought even as you thinking it. You prefer to be alone most days and most nights in fact, you hole up in your room with your books and your dead flowers and the postcards from your mom and ex-lovers and you sit and think about all the things you have done in your twenty two years and all the things you wish you could do.
You continue to write and the sun starts to set even though it’s barely four in the afternoon. You feel your stomach start to sink with it and you realize you are depressed again so you bury your face in your hands and you let the sounds of the people around you guide you to a place that is bright and sunny and you feel your heart start to lift up and lift off and you are in flight.
You are in flight and you are looking at everybody down there below you buried in their liquids or glued to their computer screens and you feel light and free and O.K. And you know this feeling won’t last forever so you close your eyes even tighter and you pull your hair a little bit more over your face and you hold onto the feeling as best as you can and try hard to imprint it into your memory so that when you have bad days you can reach back into your vault and pull this memory and this day out and say here. Right here. I was happy. I was.
the sun rises and sets in Vermont
the same way it does in Texas
and all the things i do during the days away from you
are the same things you do
brushing your teeth you spit into the sink and think of me
just as i
eating dinner pause with the glass of water halfway to my mouth and think of you
i go out to dinner alone and watch the couples around me
enjoying their meals and kissing their partners
i die inside everytime
You wake up and realize that you are alone again and you don’t mind it anymore.
The sun comes up like it always does and the rain falls hard and heavy and you lay awake for hours at a time counting the kisses you have had and the hours of being tangled up with somebody else and you don’t miss them anymore.
You don’t miss them anymore and you feel freed from something that has kept you weighted down for the past four years. And that freedom feels like cold winter mornings and the taste in your mouth when you run suicides back and forth on the soccer field after midnight and your breath rises up above you and circles you like a halo.
Maybe none of this will matter in a few years.
Maybe all of it will.
Maybe it won’t.
Maybe its not supposed to.
You drink your beer and you wonder if any of this will pay off. You wonder if you will get the job you want in the small town or city you want to live in.
You wonder if you will get married, move into a nice house in the suburbs.
Or if you will somehow never have any of these things and end up living alone in an apartment in your hometown with a cat and a cleaning lady who comes every other Monday.
“What does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure. I think it means he is sorry.”
“But if he is sorry, then why is he still repeating those exact same actions?”
“I don’t know what to tell you except that in a few years he will change and realize what he has lost.”
“But why can’t that happen now? Why does that have to take years?”
“Because. That is just how time works.”
“But that’s not fair. “
“No. No its not. It never is.”