- drive up to san francisco and spend a weekend in the city - grow hair out and not give a shit about it - continue working out and being healthy - consistently study for my nursing boards and finally pass it - buy a new lens for my camera/buy film/go on photo-taking adventures - go to los angeles natural history museum - go hiking at griffith
I’m tired of chasing it around. I need to focus on things I can control. There really is no point on being sad about trivialities and people. I can’t pick and choose who to love and who to keep all the time. I need to simply love whoever is willing to stay. People are so good at disappearing. I’m tired of these constant peaks and valleys. no more chasing you around.
“This thing I feel, I can’t name it straight out but it seems important, do you feel it too?’ — this sort of direct question is not for the squeamish. For one thing, it’s perilously close to ‘Do you like me? Please like me,’ which you know quite well that 99% of all the interhuman manipulation and bullshit gamesmanship that goes on goes on precisely because the idea of saying this sort of thing straight out is regarded as somehow obscene. In fact one of the last few interpersonal taboos we have is this kind of obscenely naked direct interrogation of somebody else. It looks pathetic and desperate.”
You wake up somewhere between the ribs and the lungs. You are passing through someone—managed to get so close you are seamlessly ghosting right through the center of all that they are. You’ll get caught. Initially this will seem romantic. You will write many poems and letters. Maybe a song. You will paint it perfect, sigh deeply, linger as long as you can—picking out drapes for the inside of their eyelids, arranging furniture around the photographs and dusty keepsakes that are already scattered around—you will attempt to ignore these things completely.
Months later, moths will start eating holes in your favorite tapestries. You will find things rearranged when you arrive home from work—in piles on the floor, knocked over onto their sides, collecting in haphazard piles. Only the ones you’ve moved in on your own accord, and for this reason it will be horribly unsettling. You will call friends, specialists, ask synapses “why is this body trying to burn me out of it?” No one will give you an answer. You, ignorantly, will move in more of your own shit. You will pay no mind to whether or not it matches with the current decorating scheme! You won’t leave for days. You will forget what your own insides look like, only that once you knew them intrinsically. That you once knew who you were without the messiness of someone else. That you were once your own home.
One day you will wake up on the other side of this person completely. All of your things laying in the lawn. Everything ruined.
you flutter in and out of my mind each day, like a coping mechanism for wanting to see you. it’s a shame how weak and fragile i really am. i’m just trying to go through the motions each day trying to focus on what’s in front of me, yet you’re still a persistent thought on my mind. it’s a very strange thing to long for something while also trying to rid of it, like mixing water and oil. it clashes, but nothing ever really happens. there’s no change, just like my thoughts of you. it might take time to change how i feel or maybe a sudden realization of reality, but who knows. i have a different mindset now, but i’m still fighting the demons of wanting you.