When I last loved you all of the scabs had already healed. But I looked back in time and wept for the blisters anyway.
For we were always together, always together, Siamese soul twins, destined to wear the same color shirts and weave in and out of a love for theatre. For me, this meant all sorts of self-sacrifice on the golden Greek alter of muse after muse. For you, this was nothing short of lilac colored ecstasy day after day until gluttony itself refused to describe it.
But we made it work until we didn’t. Until I threw stones at a glass house and spent the next years picking up shards with my mouth. Till blood drooled from my knees and the corners of my lips, not unlike that cartoon villain come to life in that movie we both saw eight times, but never once together.
And those were the things that brought us together but the things that tore us apart were much more complicated; starting with vowels not consonants. Ending in adjectives not verbs.
And so now the only thing to do is sing myself to sleep, calling myself darling the way you used to in the old days. My left hand still extended, waiting for yours until the day that I die or the sides of my brain pull that travelling sleep circus together and I can finally, finally, find someone brand new and glorious to love.
But until that day, let’s recall that Bohemia, academia, bulimia and all other dreams lie cast away on the ocean-paved road to Hell.
I used to be good. I used to be smart. I used to be funny and unapologetic. I’m still those things, but somewhere between my second moving and my third bout of depression I stopped being able to show the world myself.
I hide now, behind erudition. Behind pretty words doled out in parcels. I’m trying to be good enough to write. Trying to be cool. Trying to be too hip to be square or that other thing I saw once in a magazine and wanted to update. Trying to be pretty, or prove you wrong about wanting to be.
But once I just lived. It was better. Then I wore rainbow striped knee socks with cowboy boots and told everyone about Jimmy Stewart’s beautiful affectations. Today I returned a towel to Bed Bath and Beyond and ate some cashews. So I’m down on my luck and in short, not what I used to be.
what i’d really like is for someone to objectively watch me for a week or so and then just sit down with me for a few hours and explain to me what i am like and how i look to others and what my personality is in detail and how i need to improve where do i sign up for that.
In a sweet moment nestled in between five hour bus rides and songs at El Centro, my heart retreated to it’s rightful place in my chest.
So I stopped hiding behind this manufactured veil of awkward-ugly-girl wailing inelegantly on imaginary guitars that turn into laptop keyboards or whining unapologetically into nighttime cellphones with the blue glow smacking me in the cheek. I made myself a new, brave life to be lived immediately, where I danced at clubs on weekends, where my friends swore up and down at the strangers sharing their body heat and where I winked at those enigmatic Germans-com-Spanairds-com-Brits until they took me to coffee on the Upper West Side of Europe.
But then I saw your face again as though from across a dream and by the time I found your lips to kiss them, it was all gone.