Ode to February 15th
So I laid there, fading in and out of you. Everything was blurry in the dark, plus my eyes had been heavy since before I even crawled into the sheets. I couldn’t make out your face as we were laying there, shooting the shit, talking about unimportant things that were somehow effecting me. And it was when I gingerly said, “that’s why it’s so great to have you.” Like that’s all you are to me or all you’re great for, a muse for me to conjure words. It’s infinitely frustrating for me to try and explain the depths of what I feel. I almost accept defeat knowing I can only offer semi-truths. What I really know as true is hiding out, trying to keep it’s stark white innocence in the pits of my mind. All of the meaning gets lost en route to my mouth. Regardless, I awoke this morning unscathed as suspected. But around one o’clock someone said to me, “I’ll always listen to what you have to say.” From then on today has been a freakishly long existential moment. Who cares what I could say about the anatomical heart? I don’t understand what makes it the commonly known and accepted mecca of love. Is it because the heart keeps us alive and the naive believe love does the same? It doesn’t. They don’t relate. Why? Who really even cares about the stupid and simple things I could cry over? Like, the fourth floor of the library the other day when it was dark and empty except for that chair by the window. I almost felt a ghost. The empty pages left in my drawer. The thought of those old jewels in my pocket. They only hold this meaning to me. You wouldn’t cry with me, you could assure me it’s a silly thing over and over. It’s not. It’s all so much more than you’ll know, more than I’ll ever be able to explain because my mind won’t consent. I can live with all of my treasures untouched and in the dark because at least I have them somewhere. I’m only trying to convince you of them because you are so much more than I am. I would give you all of my valuables if I could only coax them out of me. What you’ve done is so much more than they ever did.
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Trying to take better mental notes now. Learning as I go, which makes me feel idiotic for going about things the same way over and over again after so many failures. I get it. Or I get what works for me. I had that one clue for so long where I thought “I only like things that seem masked and unavailable or too scary to pursue and way out of my confidence range”. I was sort of right. But still, not really at all. I don’t even know if I’m right now but this is the best it’s ever felt. I used to want so badly for things to work out that I would turn aggressive trying to get them there. Then after having it perfect and literally better than I could have ever expected it, I hate it and I need out immediately. But that insane sense of urgency went away. No aggression, no repetition, no explaining and conveying over and over and over into complete oblivion. This is really good, this is better than I expected and perfect and yet, I don’t want out. Not even in the slightest.
I have a lot of
self issues I need to work on. I’m exhausted from being so damn insecure, it’s nuts. I don’t want to be, but some nagging voice won’t shut up about all of the things I should be. It’s just that the voice is always louder when I have company; when someone has their arms around me. It’s a sick form of motivation. I’m happy, just never with myself. So I wonder if getting there would make me self absorbed? The voice would cease and then what? I would forever be in a mad trap of vanity? I don’t want that either. I just want to not care. I want to understand that things are the way there are because I am the way I am which means that everything is okay.
A song of uncertainty and hope.
There can be harmony in separation. But so quickly it disperses when you are at the verge of disassociation. When times feel too real. Sometimes they are. The uncertainty of the future between people can be so oppressing. Even when you find something (tangible or in-) you have forgotten about and you feel that this one little thing has the power (that you have mysteriously never had) to change things. To make them all right. Acceptance of closure becomes sort of paradoxical when you are locking up thoughts, feelings, times, objects or even people that you have convinced yourself you love. It’s necessary and hard to realize that although things and people came up, you should neither forget nor regret the map you’ve followed to end up here, at the barricade. What it felt like to travel it. Being confused can become quite beautiful once you realize that you’re not sad, you’re just lost. Someone will find you. Someone will help you forget and someone could potentially make you endure this again. Maybe that’s why I need to express this right now. Words do scar me so nicely sometimes. Hopefully they are sharp this morning. Being young shows you many things that it can’t guarantee yet you buy into anyway. Let it go and let it hurt you. I know it’s a terrible thing to say to someone or yourself, suffocating even, but it’s entirely honest.
This is always the part in summer
where I begin to wonder about you. We talk, not nearly enough, but we keep on some how. The sad parts go somewhere this time of year. I don’t remember. I won’t until winter when I realize that we are best this way, apart and struggling. Alcoholics who wonder. I haven’t seen you in months because I’m scared. I don’t know how to be your friend, but I want to learn. It is natural to hide myself between your head and shoulders and smile. I know things about you that know one else knows. That one faint mark on your right hip that I am sure no one else has noticed, the way your mouth moves when you speak to adults. I know you. Things are different but some how we are still the same. I want you, but I know it’s just that time of year again and I will not invest. If winter comes and I am still wondering I will close the gap. We can marry. We can go some where else and have no money there. I will try my hardest not to visit you because I know things will happen. I know we will look at each other and say we mean it this time because we are another year older, but we aren’t. We are the same fucked up teenagers we have always been, even though today is your birthday and you are 21 now. I’m 19 but when I look at you I am 14 and 15 and 16 and 17 and sometimes I’m 18. And I see you still 18 and level headed. And that song will play again and things seem okay until we go home alone and think ourselves to death. The routine is miserable and this time I will try my hardest not to conform.
