summer 2012, a prologue

All the sun to look forward to, and drugs. What stung so strongly as failure, now where my eyes close to warmth and purpose. The uselessness of an afternoon in the grass, or a gin drink. Love in passing clouds. Reverb and flip-flops. The cold of my fingers at work and plans that might follow through. The rhythm of a repetition that we can't hold onto. Blankets of chilly nights under the stars. What I might look forward to, or what might scare me, and a colored infinity where they meet. What I draw with you by my side. All the universe that exists between us which I can't help but continue to explore. The thoughts I learn are wrong as clouds become bunnies above our heads. And we whisper to each other falling asleep. Or bike to the farmer's market in the morning.

essays on love, a table of contents

4. - Not How To Be Nice To People (obsession)
The blog post she'll never know I was reading. That virus way she replicates sometimes in my head. Or the bacteria way she infects. Something gross and applicable. Chalk it up to nausea, the pause of maybe being sick. The parties we pass out at alone. Well, not together.

5. - Lying Liars Who Lie (stimulation)
The way I rub my eyes with my thumb and lower index finger. All sorts of details that were so lost in her overly-air-conditioned bedroom. Always adjusting my steps around her, I never found solid ground. But still I could press into my face for thoughts to come pouring out. All the confusion I could find in one summer.

3. - What To Do With You (hope)
The most that timidity could hope for in cold weather. Checklists and great ideas lacking in initiative. The tea we never drank and what I would call trying. Such unbalanced scales, though she laid so wonderfully flat.

1. - An Engagement (respect)
The creak of floorboards. All of two people that you could fit in one tiny room. What could be easily overlooked and the moments where mistakes were only launching boards for something stronger. The Autumn colors we dressed ourselves in to stand back to back and find a future far away.

2. - A Life Of Possibilities (honesty)
The tiniest of promises that an eye can be full of. What spring air means to a 3:00 AM drive home. And all of the the wonder that could be found in a first date that's too much for two people. Not what died shortly after.

essays on love, an epilogue

"It was never my choice" screams the blind hand of loss. To see the dawn of any morning other than the fog. The full eye of melancholy. The refresh of again. What new sun shines past the footnotes and explanations. Over whatever road came into view, and the dirt. The backwards route of getting lost. And the uselessness. For all it taught me will be water in my life. Change as a Christmas card. Reminders in the soup, of somewhere I once knew. Not another story, or the way I felt it needed shoving. My own two hands, and tales of lines I knew were best, and afraid. Wouldn't it be adaptable to put myself into a chair? Always hearing history, when I listen. Icicles are another page in a tome of my world. No two pages alike, no sentiment unseen. There, as needles drip languid for awakening. And the spit of being done. Whatever I lined my bed with, it's making me uncomfortable. Where sleep sees me under. The promise of my insults, that slowed so freely, and lovingly. And gave you strength against me, the wrongs which were under every breath. Wooden floors, which called me to them. Always driving, always driving, always driving. Silence of age. The tiny drawings lead to something. We're all creations.