straw, camel, back

Do you remember the first night? You touched me in some way that I made some noise. "Shhh," you whispered, and in that instant you owned me forever. But do you remember, also, me telling you how much I loved that you did that? "I can't wait 'til you do it again," I said. "Promise me you'll do that again, just exactly the same."

Only you never did. 

And that's what I'll remember. That you so easily could have made me so happy, with something so simple. But you didn't listen, or you didn't remember, or you didn't care enough. 

They say people will forget what you said and did, but they'll never forget how you made them feel.


I have been blocking and unblocking your number, like some kind of weird game of iPhone Russian Roulette. I block and tell myself I feel empowered. I unblock and tell myself I'm not waiting. 

Waiting is the thing that killed us, just so you know. Not this big long last wait, while you got enough power over your demons to open your life back up. Instead it was the dozens - literally, dozens - of small waits. The many, many, many times you left me waiting around for you. Made plans with me. Then just never showed up. Canceled. Chose something else. 

Saturday night was just one time too many of looking forward to being with you but being let down instead. I want the record to be crystal clear on that. That's all it was. One too many broken plans. 

The simplest explanation is sometimes the most heartbreaking, but I learned last time around that no explanation is just pure cruelty.

So that's why. Straw, camel, back. Broken.

tako kichi

There once was a girl determined to fly a broken kite. She didn't know it was broken, of course. Every time she couldn't get it skyward, she just made up a new excuse.

"Not enough wind today."

"The string must be too heavy."

"If only I could run faster..."

Some days she was so discouraged by her failure, all she could do was sit sadly, holding the kite, wishing desperately to see it soar. She ran her fingertips across its smooth paper, ignoring the splinter in her thumb. She wound its tail around her wrist over and again, loving the sense of being tied to something so beautiful. "Next time," she said. "Tomorrow for sure."

The girl didn't tell anyone about the trouble she was having. It was too embarrassing to admit. After all, she thought she had everything necessary to achieve flight.

Then one day, she found the crack in the kite's frame. It was large and obvious, and she felt stupid for not seeing it before. She let disappointment wash over her like icy wind, and tried not to feel angry about her wasted efforts. She admitted her shame to her friends, who laughed and hugged her. "The only thing you're being stupid about," they said, "is acting like that's the last kite on earth."

She smiled back, knowing they were right, even while thinking: Not the last. Just the one I wanted most. And then she noticed how welcome the cold breeze actually was: bracing and fresh and full of winter's calm. It was so cold that it threatened to freeze the tears on her face and keep them there forever - but she knew better about that, too.

in dreams

I have been dreaming about you - whoever the fuck you are.

Dreams that leave me breathless, bewildered, exhilarated, excited. There have been two now; the second, just today. They feel like a story, building.

So what were they? Hard to explain. We're running, partly to escape something, partly to reach something else. There is urgency but no fear. There is danger, but we aren't afraid. We move with superhero skill and speed through a dreamscape of dystopian obstacles that cannot stop us. We scale impossibly tangled metal fences; we swing across menacing divides.

All that is clear is that we are having the time of our fucking lives, because we know we are strong and safe in our connection. Everything that is ugly and painful in this world falls away in the rearview, because we are in on life's single most empowering secret. All we ever had to do was choose it  - and keep choosing it, every day.

I don't know what you look like. I only know how you make me feel, in the depths of my subconscious.

See you there again, or here one day, or neither, who knows.