Update It Has Been 8 Days And I Am Completely Hopeless Someone Come Help Me

Journal

And its all in my head, (our past, our future)

I can’t get you out of my head

Mind reader, you can see inside my head

Seeing you it all comes to a head

The thought comes into my head

I’ll love you until I’m dead

There’s a part of me that’ll always love you.

The part of me that’s still 13, the part of me that was the beginning of who I am now, not the child but the person. You watched the change, you changed yourself, and we survived that terrible process together, the death of the old us, the horrors of becoming, the fear and loneliness and hope and desire.

And that’s the foundation of who I am today, and you’re there too, imbedded in the cornerstone, along with all the joys and disasters, and I can’t not love you. I love you like I love summertime, or old musicals, or a favorite book. But it’s more than that. I don’t love you like a friend, or a brother, or a lover. Maybe I love you like I love myself. You’re a fragment. You’re a coin I flip, tails for a grudge and disappointment and bitterness, heads for overwhelming tenderness.

And our bodies never meet, you’re so careful to stay a few feet away, but the meeting of our minds is tangible enough for the brush of your fingers to seem irrelevant. And it’s so tragic and so romantic and then tragic again, isn’t it? You’re divorced and too young for that, I’m a virgin and too old for that, and we won’t say those words but we know it in the sidelong glances, in the shapes we draw around in our conversations.

In the scandalously intimate front seats of the car, in the dark and deserted corners on our evening walking, in the quiet of the galleries where we pick apart the art like it will tell us something about ourselves, I can’t bear to look at you for fear of what I’d do. And we’re two ships in the night, a long day together and then a long year apart, and maybe a year becomes forever, because despite our best efforts and egos we aren’t psychic, or perfect, but I think, I hope, we both want otherwise.

And I think about other things too, about your fingertips through my hair, about how we’d laugh, and it would be so strange, wouldn’t it? But if you were the last man on earth, I think we’d be grateful for the apocalypse to leave us to our own devices. And you’re nothing without an audience but I would laugh enough for a whole auditorium, just you and me and the end of the world. But these are foolish things, flights of fancy that die in the sunlight, in the statistics. So I stop thinking about them, about you. And I can go without thinking about you forever, but you’re always there anyway, in the map of my subconscious, in chess and in that christmas card, in showtunes and in shame and in shivers, in dialects and old sci-fi and always, always, in dreams. I hope I’m more than just an old face to you.

I am so happy I don’t ever want this period of my life to end and I haven’t slept in 38 hours I’m afraid of losing even a second

Mood of The Night

listen. that feeling where you have a cold or something and suddenly your nose is all plugged up and you have to breathe through your mouth all night? and then it dawns on you that you took your nose for granted this whole time. yeah that feeling. cursed

On today’s episode of listening to astral projection music after midnight and feeling like I’m literally going to claw out of my skin with intense emotion, I am literally home alone in a foreign country and have to be awake in 4 and a half hours and the song is Malibu 1992 by coin <3 someone please help me I am in the grip of demonic forces

Tonight’s self-sabotage in the form of staying up way too late is soundtracked by everybody wants to rule the world which I am absolutely losing my mind to, the melody is so -/({#%£?{#£}~!}]€£%{, that is to say an incompressible yummy heartbreaking work of genius, how can it be so happy and so sad at once? Why do I feel so emotional about this? Screee

Is anyone else like frantically and painfully nostalgic for the fall of 2013, which was TEN YEARS AGO??? Unbelievable

Listening to Suzanne by Leonard Cohen repeatedly and I am sick I am SICK, she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from china and the sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbor.. unwell quaking astral projecting screaming into this void etc.

Am I being unhinged? Mishinged even? Only time and the memory of a version of me that no longer exists could tell you

The tension between I will love you enough to stay and I will love you enough to give you my heart knowing I have to leave

Peeling Spring

It’s a citrus kinda day,

Sour sweet oranges and yellows,

I am filled with a tingling on my tongue,

And the smell of summer,

I’m alive,

My hands are sticky,

And taste of tangerines,

It is bright out,

But I’m not blinded,

The sun is in my eyes,

But I remembered my sunglasses,

I’m alive