I like odd numbers so I like you already. We will be just fine, you and I. We have one whole year to figure each other out. I will work on loving you as I work on loving the sad person in the mirror. You will teach me new things and I will let you. I will take you dancing with the waves of the ocean. I will take you all over New York City this wintertime. There is loudness in my mind and it is cheering you on. Soon, I will take your hand and show you what is really in my mind and how I am able to bear the thumping and screaming inside. You are three minutes old now, and long day that it was, I am going to cradle you to sleep.
I like smoking indoors because I can dance longer with the clouds. I leave the TV on but I don’t watch or listen, there are only pictures behind the smoke, a companion to the quiet subtlety. It sort of climbs out of my throat, my mouth, hugging my lips closely as it passes by. I can never make it out because it is not real. Sometimes though, it appears as if I can touch it, like a face with lips that feel like it is kissing mine as I exhale. Like it doesn’t ever want to leave me.
Your hand against my thighs feels like rain. It travels so well, going to places I didn’t know were there in my own body. Lips that taste of rosebuds plant roses on the sides of my neck, down my throat, planting secrets all over my shoulders. Your other hand down my back, they write me stories I’ve only been told as a girl.
It burns for more than fifteen minutes. It actually burns, sets things on fire. First my tongue, then my lips, my throat, my lungs, my chest. And before you know it, my whole mouth is on fire. One is enough to burn evidence of your mouth invading my mouth, your tongue wrestling my tongue, even the bruises and the cuts you left me. Fifteen minutes to turn you to ashes. Then I wait for the rain to wash it all away.
Fly Me to the Moon
Last night I watched
pieces of my soul float
by my window and landed
on the hard rocks of the moon.
It was flavorful. Soft crying lips,
hands that slipped through my back,
pressing hard on my cheeks—
not those on my face.
Sweet pea, he said
before my soul took off.
This was your playground, darling,
as much as it was mine.
I am yours now.
I wrote about you last night. About your hips, about your jeans, about the way you look when you look away. The way the shadows pass your eyes, your nose, half of your mouth. The half I’d like to kiss. Sink into. Dive into. Drown in.
I told you before that our LDR is the only one I can really be at ease with. Both of us having gone through LDRs in the past, makes me think of how much work a relationship needs. How much molding it requires, and time. Time and distance when separated really makes our hearts rot. Our friendship is definitely one I will never want to see wash away from the shore. Our names will be in the sands, even when islands start to drown. And the greatest part is, our friendship is no work whatsoever. The way it should be. Though apart, on the shores of different islands facing different seas— this is exactly what makes you my seaside company.
Talking about the future with you doesn’t scare me as much. It feels more realistic, and because you’re the only person I know who’s ever grasped their dreams by the Law of Attraction. Even if momentary, you lived it. Even if it all ended, it ended as it should. More things are to start and end, surely, and it will be for the better part of our growth, even if our hearts break some more in the process.
I guess it’s different in a friendship than in a romantic relationship. In romantic relationships, proximity is largely craved. Skin and hair and touch is hungered even more than food. But I’ve had to leave so many friends behind in my short life so far, none of those friendships lasted the way I hoped. But I’m not sad for them. Not anymore. Because it has lead me to places like this. Right now. Writing to you.
I feel so lucky to have you and could never imagine anyone else as my seaside company. Some day (soon) we will rest by the same shore and build something new there. I know it. This is me practicing the Law.
By the sea,
(Your Grey to your Yang; Steele to your Grey. Ha.)
It was one of those days where everything was too good and unbelievable that even pictures could never replace those moments, also, because we really just forgot to take pictures. Hah. We took a few, but we were so tangled in every single second that we didn't feel the need to capture anything-- because the rapture of our hearts was finally being fulfilled.
New York City, my heart belongs to you.
In sleeplessness (unrelated to schoolwork), the discovery of good music. Pepper Rabbit. Of Monsters and Men. Beach music, also known as, sex music. They make such charming music suitable for the kinds of spring road trips that swivels hair and wind together. (Heart and soul together.)
It's all about preparation now. A train ride. My encounters with kind strangers, strange strangers. I might find some of my friends to have become strangers, I might find some strangers to become my friends. Always a trade happening somewhere. Might as well make it happen here.
The train ride. A four-hour train ride to New York City with Jay Gatsby in my pocket. This is a nice way to come home.
There is a mark in my chest from where it feels like it had been punched so hard. Not a hole, thank Goodness, no. But a bruise, I suppose that’s what it is, it’s really not so bad. It heals. It was a very quick thing, it happened like the sunny day that sleeps in a rainy night. I tell myself taking chances is important and that disappointment is part of the experience. “Life begins outside of your comfort zone.” I’m not sure where my comfort zone is as of now. All I know is, if you want an outcome-- positive or negative-- you have to give it an input.
Cause you and I, we were born to die.