New, But Not

I may be beaming at the thought of you, giggling through 1am conversations, and risking a heart attack every single time we kiss. I may be interested, may be involved, may be infatuated. I may be thinking that I stumbled into something truly spectacular when I reached out to you.

But soon I’m going to panic.

I’ve only known good things to bring bad endings. I’m too familiar with the crash and burn, too aware of the pattern of demise. The voices in my head tell me horrible things to keep pace with every sweet word you have to offer. Just as this starts to get really good for us, this sick darkness is going to emerge and ruin everything. It always does. And as much as I like you and bad as I want this, how can I go through that again? How can I put you through that, knowing you don’t deserve a bit of it?

From what I can tell, you’re a genuine guy. You’re polite and you mean it. You’re not afraid to care for someone, not paralyzed by the idea of forever.

Relationships are scary. Falling for someone is scary. Knowing that the odds are stacked so high against us….it’s really fucking scary. Things with you are new, but they’re not. I can tell that you’re going to be important and that whatever happens between us is going to matter. But things have mattered before, and there’s no way to know whether or not I’ll survive it again.


Mean Streak

I was black eyes and insomnia
and you were rewound tapes of suicide.
It felt good, the way we fit together,
the way we wronged together.
We were raw and mean and selfish about it.
Kindness never knew us,
so we never could be bothered to try.
But God, there’s something about a mean streak
that keeps me alive through the night.

Hope from a caring, kind almost-stranger

Sometimes I wake up all out of hope. There are sleepless nights that exhaust me to the point that I would sooner implode than do it all over again tomorrow. It’s hard to exist sometimes. Not just for me, but everyone. Sometimes we need a break.

The only thing I regret about you is the state you met me in. If I could’ve had it my way, our strings would have tangled sometime back in June or maybe August. You wouldn’t have known my defeat before knowing my name. You would have been met with a smile and untainted joy for tomorrow, for the chance of meeting once more.

But it was mid-October, not June or August. You stumbled into the picture on a particularly cold and dreary morning, one when I had so struggled just to roll out of bed. I was too tired to smile hello, too caught up in everything else to acknowledge all the magic before me. But you were better, and you shone with hope. It warmed me tremendously, and I suppose should have told you that. I wish I had. I should have thanked you for being a light.

November has come around now and I’m better. I sleep well more times than I don’t, and I break into a massive smile at the thought of you. There’s hope. Hope for one more encounter, hope for a chance to start again, hope for this to become something. Perhaps it’s foolish – this dependency I’ve nurtured on a caring, kind almost-stranger – but it helps. And that’s the bottom line.

Still Is

It’s not that you broke your promise…just that it was nonspecific. When you swore you’d be back, that you’d still stick around for me, you didn’t tack on a day or time. And how could you? Where our paths split, life was looking pretty crazy. It would have been silly to think we could know ahead of time when we’d most need one another. Apparently we don’t yet, and I’m glad to know you must be doing okay. So don’t mistake this note as a bitter jumble of hard feelings. I’m not angry. You said you’d be back and you will.  Continue reading “Still Is”

We could swing it

Yes, what you heard is true. I talk to myself. I, being me, enjoy having make-believe conversations with myself, being you.

We talk about everything under the sun. We’ve been lovers and friends and strangers all over again. I’m hoping to decide what we might be when it’s all said and done.

The others don’t get it, and sometimes they lash out. We’ve tried pretending they’re jealous, but I’m not sure that’s really what this is about.

In my head, we were perfect. A mismatch only due to time. A decade of difference and no doubt, you’d have been mine.

In my head, it’d be worth it – all the whispers and stares. You always did like to tell me how we made such a notable pair.

In my head, you’re coming back. You can’t stand this being away. You’ll show up on my doorstep saying what I couldn’t say.

In my head, we could swing it. I’ve got nothing to lose. But that’s easy to say when it’s just me here speaking for you.

So I talk to myself, trying to wade through this rubble. What is this mess? It wasn’t love and I never fell but I guess I did sort of stumble.

I guess I just wanted answers, and I wasn’t sure if you’d find a way. I thought that if I could rehearse it alone, we’d end up being in agreement like always.

So is what I’ve heard true? Do you still kick yourself for it, wish you’d stopped to reassess the regret? Because I sure as hell do.


strangers who belong

I’m so excited to meet you, and something tells me it’s happening sooner than later now. It’s like there’s a tension in the air of paths about to cross, and it’s electrifying and frustrating and nerve-wracking but it’s amazing. I’m in a constant state of see-you-soon, of always being ready, being eager to open the door to you. It’s a new feeling. I tend to be bad at opening up and letting people in, but once in a while, I just know. Sometimes there are strangers who belong.

And that’s what you seem to be. Somehow we haven’t had to meet for me to realize that you’ve got a way about you that I am bound to adore. It’s never crossed my mind to doubt your genuine spirit or so much as wonder if you’ve got a good heart. Because of course you do – you’re you. I’ve been hoping for someone to walk into my life and offer a steady hand as I heal, and surely no God we know would send in another man with lousy grip and wandering eyes. Call me crazy for it but you could be damn near everything I need, and maybe I’m something you need, too.

Time will tell, I suppose, whether or not fate is on our side. Maybe I’ll catch you before a bar gig a state or two over and you’ll decide to sing a song for me, or perhaps I’ll bump into you in a holiday crowd at a busy outdoor shopping mall and sparks will fly with the snowflakes. Maybe we’ll get coffee even though I don’t drink coffee, or maybe we’ll find a quiet place to just talk until we run out of daylight. There are billions upon billions of ways this could all play out, and I’m just praying for one.

On feeling forgotten


It tastes like a staleness in once-electrified space, and reminds me of the night I wasn’t able to kiss you goodbye.  I sit around in this room and see all of these pieces – proof that you were here, that you made an impact, that people loved you. I sit here and I wonder if you miss this, if you miss us.

Usually, I decide the answer is no. You’re probably too busy to wonder about me; you likely are still adjusting to being so happy and carefree with your new situation. I wonder if I cross your mind, but I’m afraid to wonder in what capacity. Maybe deep down you were relieved to have a reason to get away. Or maybe, just maybe, you were relieved to find an out and save your heart before things between us got to be too much. I know it’s not likely.

Still, I catch myself smiling, pretending you miss it all as much as do. Hoping that you’ll make your way back to me so we can remember it all together. It hurts to swing from these could-have-been highs to wasted time lows, but hey…. it hurts to only know the lows, too.

I wish you would come see me or give me a call or just answer a text. You promised you would, you know. Make good on that, prove to me that you’re as wonderful as I’ve painted you to be in my memory. Do you remember when you offered me your support and swore you’d be there for me no matter what? Because I’ve been needing you, and it feels like you forgot to be there. So as often as I yearn for your companionship, I keep to myself because I hate it when you answer me with unscathed silence. What could I have done to deserve that?

I guess the staleness is just a part of feeling forgotten, of loving a time or a person that’s gone its own way. It leaves a terrible taste in my mouth, and while I know you’ll never come to kiss it away, maybe you could still swing by and work your magic. You always did know just what to say.