After 6 solid years and halfway across the planeeeeet! Friends scince fetuses! :)) I missed you so much! @roenaong !!! Thank you for the treats! See you again soon! :*
❝You don’t talk about the beautiful lights in San Francisco anymore. I thought of them as you cried into the sleeves of your sweater and told me that life felt too long and worthless sometimes.
There was a woman on Bedford Park who once told me that death is like floating gently down a cold river with nothing but a pair of trousers on. It’s lonely and calm and everything your tired brown eyes want tonight.
Sometimes I tried to touch you the way the light would from afar on a sunday morning. While the smell of cigars danced around you to The Best of Muddy Waters.
There’s a fire hydrant on Lexington that you leaned against and laughed when I realized you were my Dean Moriarty. My out of your god-damned mind hero. My friend.
The one who spewed absurd ideologies, smoked too many cigarettes, touched too many fingertips.
The unsung savior in San Francisco leaning on a payphone with tears in his eyes and poems on his hands
about west coast lights and sunday mornings with Muddy Waters
that weren’t helping anymore.
There’s a chair in my apartment where you sat and told me that you’ll push your mad ideas across the world someday. You touched the shackles on my ankles and promised I’d be dragged along with you. You cried and apologized for not keeping your promise to me.
I tried to touch you the way the love for a savior would from afar on a sunday morning. While the people danced around their shackles and feel warm the way a mother feels their child’s embrace from nearly 3000 miles away.
I know you want to understand that woman on Bedford park but before the telephone line cuts, I hope that you find the will to understand me
on Lexington avenue by a fire hydrant
staring at a seat in my apartment
on sunday mornings when I’m warm and chain smoking
dancing to The Best of Muddy Waters
and every other night when I find the time to appreciate the New York City lights
in honor of your broken shackles.❞
There is a boy.
And there is a saying in Japanese.
“Koi No Yokan”
The sense upon first meeting
a person that the two of you
are going to fall into love.
There is a boy. A bike boy. A street boy. An artist.
He is me, I am him.
Each other in each other.
Soul mates.
And this time I can feel it pulsating inside of me.
That feeling that when we finally get there, we’ll never fall apart.
That feeling so strong I can feel it curling my insides, turning it into mush.
All those songs about love and heartache, and all those songs about how a person can destroy and build you, all those books and quotes about that kind of love. I’ve figured it all out.
This past month
I’ve seen beautiful places, both in this dirty city and the outskirts.
I’ve met beautiful people, inside and out. So many interesting characters and minds.
And this past month I’ve done nothing but fall in love. Everyday.
With life and what it has to offer.
And I’ve done nothing but thank God. For all of… this.
This past month I’ve learned so much and I realise again that I don’t know anything at all.
It may seem like everything’s been happening so fast and I think that’s where I want to keep things. Too fast to capture like a blurry image. Too fast to even think about it twice. Just going for it. Plunge, dive, push, jump, no brakes.
I have so many plans coming up and I don’t wanna jinx any of it. But I can feel that something better than this past month is coming along.
I’m sorry if I haven’t written anything of substance lately. It’s just that when things finally get good in real life, I get so happy that when I try to write it down, it just drifts away from me. I try to write everything but then I forget what to write about.
I hope the mini photographs and instagrams I post suffice for now. Stay faithful, I still have much more to say. :)
I could write a book about you.
But what would it say?
It would probably contain the good things about you, what I like about you the most. The way you move and do things, the way you think, the way you speak, the way you touch, the way you talk about what you love and do not love, about the most important things to you, about your hopes and dreams and wants. Intensely, softly.
It would contain the whys about you, the hows the whats.
In detail or in riddles.
It would be thiiiiiiiiiiiiis thick.
In small letters, back to back, single spaced.
I could write a book about you.
The way I see you, the way I want you, the way I need you.
It would contain your secrets and your naked truths.
It would contain your skin and bones and soul and heart.
It will be about how every song reminds me of you, and how I know you will love every song that reminds me of you.
I could write a book about you.
I would not need to do revisions or erasures or paraphrasing.
I would write you raw.
I could write a book about you.
I would want to write a book about you, so that I could learn you and read you and finish you and when I’m done with you I can either put you in the shelf to rot forever or burn you along with my other books.
I told you I’d be back.
Sometimes we tend to drift off into the things we know will lead to our own self destruction.
It’s after the happiest moments that we feel the saddest.
Even after several attempts of self prevention, we plunge straight for it when it comes.
It cannot be stopped.
