March 2011
1 post
“I like sleeping with you, so I guess I could love you.” “I don’t think that’s how it works.” “What?” “You can’t love someone just like that.” “Why not?” “It doesn’t make sense, you can’t just make yourself love someone. Love isn’t just something you make yourself do. You feel it, you don’t...
November 2010
1 post
You’re sitting an arm’s length away, your fingertips gripped tight around the steering wheel and your eyes on the limitless stretch of road. I can see the muscle in your jaw, tense and tight, your teeth pressing into each other to keep the words in between your tongue and palate. My fingers have been buried in my lap for fifteen minutes or so, caught between my thighs because their...
September 2010
1 post
I miss you, I said, I hurt without you. These words, they quivered off of my lip, like some small trembling gift that only you could have. The dead air made me nervous, but you told me that I was your heart. And I promised to never stop beating for you.
August 2010
4 posts
I miss the person who makes me feel like everything in this world is okay.
There is nothing poetic and eloquent needed here; just you to make me feel right again.
Red, sticky lips, all scraped-up and stinging from the pricks of your five o’clock shadow. The skin around my mouth is swollen and red from your teeth and chin, my body is covered in your fingerprints and scratched up from your nails; but I’m not complaining.
I want you, and I miss the feeling of you digging into me.
Though the night was cold, we were two matchsticks making a fire; keeping each other warm in the sounds of the wild.
My mom asked me to dye her hair.
I’ve done this a few times before, coating her skin with vaseline and then dipping my fingers into that viscous, purple lotion. When she’d wash it away, her brown hair would be dark purple or chocolate, and then I’d comb her hair until she looked like she was fresh from the salon. We’d repeat this every four months or so, covering up the...
July 2010
5 posts
We dug our fingertips into the earth, into crumbled soft in our paws like fresh chocolate cake. Kneeling side by side, I felt the muscles of your arms against mine as we dug a perfect hole of parted dirt and root. When the time came, you spoke the word and I let out one long breath. Picking up the small box, I closed my eyes and spoke a few small promises. As seconds grew into minutes of silence,...
I am a frantic lover: jealous, possessive, with a mouthful of regret. I split my time obsessing, chewing my lips raw, and biting my nails.
That’s all.
Sometimes, when I can’t find that comfort of sleep, I dream wide awake of you. There are so many little things to build a dream with, but mostly it all comes back to that day where we walked down to the river in the late afternoon. We kicked off our shoes and walked around in wet grass, letting the soles of our feet turn green and the cracks between our toes fill up with dirt. We laid down,...
These are our most fervent moments, when we’re tracing our fingertips along known lines. The type of movements that could be mimicked with eyes closed, we know exactly where to go and when. It has been played and practiced: perfected. This is our intimacy, and I don’t want to have to learn this private thing again, I don’t want it with anybody else but you.
These days slide by, they’re all sweaty brows and t-shirts sticking to hot skin. To stay cool, we lay naked under the overhead fan, it feels like a cool soft breath on our foreheads and knees. We wait for the night, we hope it will sneak in through the front door with a cold, dry hand reaching down our spines. But in the summer, Athens breath is thick and dewy, it’s wet with heat and...
June 2010
14 posts
We sat, staring at one another, breaths held deep in our chests and words dancing on the tip of our tongues. Your eyes, my eyes, one thought, and it was suspended between us, poised and patient, yet totally alarming. I kissed you, because I thought it would move you. And I touched you, because I believed it to make a difference. But all that mattered were the words I didn’t say, those words...
I have all these thoughts in me: these ideas are all ajar and awaiting my selfish paws. God, they’ve been floating around for days, loosely laced together and waiting for the final stitch—but I’m running out of thread. I need to a break; I need to think, I really need to think. But there’s no quiet place silent enough, no word strong enough; there’s just this thing so...
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The air is a thickness that lumps in my throat and pools in me. God, this summer heat, it’s been steaming here for days and I’m all hot-sticky skin. When it was hot like this we used to hide out in your bedroom; we were naked bodies, pin-straight, arms at our sides, letting my window-unit sigh a steady stream of cold air over us. We’d breathe slow; fleshy, bumpy skin and hard...
There are remnants of you here and there: the fingerprint on my coffee table, a hair on my sweater, a bruise on my thigh from your needy index finger and thumb. I smell you in my pillowcase; the smell of your mildly-scented shampoo and the sweat from the nape of your neck. Every time I pull back my sheets, I anticipate your shoulder-blades and the dimples in your lower back. You’re not here,...
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Well, my sheets are cold at night and in the morning, they’re wrapped tight around my body in hopes for your warmth.
I used to wake up, body sticky from a night spent sweating while asleep—must be from the combination of wild dreams and your body against mine. In those days, I could only be roused by your mouth on my mouth or your hot palm moving up the small of my bare back. With the...
I won’t lie, I know that I will survive without you. Though everything will grow increasingly monotonous and hollow, I will survive the long days and nights. It will be some incomprehensible suffering, it will hurt day-in and day-out, but I will survive it. I don’t want to, but I have to and I will.
My grandfather died in my grandmother’s arms; he’d fallen just feet from his marital bed, in a room whose blueprint he’d drawn up himself. There, in the frightened embrace of my grandmother, he struggled out his last breath, which he’d held just for her—“Please just hold me, just hold me”. In those last moments of his life, facing the darkness of an abrupt...
You spend more time looking for shortcuts than you would taking the regular route. C’mon honey, there’s no way around this one.
Just tilt your head back and laugh. Roar it out from deep inside you, because once it’s gone, it’s gone. Don’t revisit it, don’t try to pull it out again. You’ve got to laugh it out, let it go, and move on swiftly.
How quick the good turns to bad, I am a fool for letting my head wrestle my mouth away from my heart. It’s there, within the confines of my ribcage, that I feel this sound apology beating and swelling. It wants to tell you it’s sorry but it can’t, because it’s held down by this over-rationalizing thing that has my regrets tightly sealed within.
I love you; I still...
May 2010
6 posts
It’s funny how an inch on a map can feel like an eternity. My fingertip followed the interstate for mere seconds, but in those seconds I saw hundreds of mile markers and hours. My heart hurt with thoughts of endless rest stops and gas stations, tears made streaks on my dress as I searched for the shortest routes. That inch, that god damn inch, it’s going to kill me.
The truth? Well the truth is that I’m terribly, horribly in love with you. And even when you’re not around, you are around because you’re here in the sheets and on my skin and in my hair and deep in the middle of my body—in that place where I let things in but never let them out, so that I can hold onto them forever. That’s what love is anyway, because one day you may...
And if you felt it all along, why didn’t you say it all along? I know actions speak louder than words, honey—but sometimes, all you need is a whisper to reinforce those little movements in the dark. You know, to set things straight. And Lord knows, had things been straight between you and I, maybe I’d still be burning up with you (like a fever).
An ocean of you.
I’m in it up to my knees. I’m wading through it. Sometimes, it rises to a depth in which I have swim. It fills my mouth and ears, I can swallow it and feel it pumping through my veins. Other times it is shallow enough for me to walk in. However, no matter what the depth and no matter how pruney my toes may get, there’s no escaping the fact that I am in it. And, there’s no...
It starts in your stomach, and then it spreads slowly but surely throughout your body. It will tremble in your fingers, it will be dry in your throat, it will curl your toes, and it will hurt. Oh—how it will hurt! It will be a stitch in your side or a burning in your gut. Regardless, it will be some pain, and it will be tremendous. It will culminate in the slow tears down your face, they...
Oh it’s so sad - sad! To think that we no longer want, That which we once thought we needed.
April 2010
11 posts
Driving through the night, the freeway was lined with the darkness of trees accented by the golden speckles of bedroom windows alive. You slept softly in the passenger seat while the radio hummed a folky, humbling tune. I grew jealous of what you dreamt as the hours turned into hundreds of miles, and the suburbs dissolved into country acres.
As we sped, I thought of all the homes we were passing,...
The idea of gender-blindness has always intrigued me.
Imagine looking around a room and being attracted to any of the people in it, regardless of their gender. What would you be attracted to?
I know what attracts me in men, and I wonder if I would see it in women too (were I gender-blind, that is). I like skin, skin has always been the source of my passions. Some smoothness that stretches out...
We are very young, and we are very lost.
We hit cruise-control; we drove blindly for days. We hypothesized on what the horizon would taste like. To you it would taste like the sea, all salt water and freedom. I said that I hoped it tasted something like your mouth after you chewed that mango-flavored gum your mom used to keep in the bottom of her purse.
We imagined that when we reached the...
And we lost our days to a slanted room with crooked windows and drawn shades; where all we wanted was to say each others name in the dark and fall asleep holding some strange, yet familiar, skin.
“Isn’t skin weird?” fingernails trace circles and lines across the expanse of smooth skin which is your back. My index finger counts the small ridges made by your spine, and I kiss the spot on your shoulder that is red from a bite mark.
“Why do you say that?” you roll over, a new plateau marked with the occasional freckle is now open for me to explore. Your ribs are...
You got mad when I said you were good enough for me. What you heard was a settling, like blankets tossed up in the air and left to fall as they would across bed and floorboards. In those sheets you felt despondent, alone, and well, settled upon. And you hated the way those words felt; forced from mouth unto the air and made as a weak bridge over the growing valley between us. You told me that you...
You said it, but you didn’t really feel it, but you said it anyway. It was soft, faint; translucent like the thin fog that used to hang low over the lake in the early morning. The words were airy, they were a light breeze skimming over the skin of my shoulders, gone just as thoughtlessly as they came.
We were born from the ashes of winter and the explosion of spring. Here, we found our awakening, in the bursting of buds and trickling of a warm rain over the gloom and gray of a dying cold. We are here, in the green of grass and the blue that splits the sky right open with sunlight and vitality. Oh how we reached upwards with limbs like branches covered in leaves green like the skin of a lime. I...
I search for you in the pages of old books that used to sleep on the bedside table. Each page is the trace of your fingertips, the dab of your tongue against your forefinger, the dog-eared creases left by your thumb. I scrutinize everything from underlined phrases you wanted to remember always, to the questions you’d ask yourself in the margins. Each word is analyzed closely, picked apart...
I wish I could lay in that hour for the rest of my life.
There was still sleep in our eyes when we woke up bare, cold from the lack of sheets. I wrapped my arms around myself, streaks of morning sun started streaming through the slats in the shades making golden stripes across my calves and your stomach. There was a calm that hung around in the air, it was a soft word unspoken, our long breaths...
“Everything is just so very, very transient,” there is a defeat to my voice that is accentuated with the sharp exhalation of cigarette smoke. My mouth is dry, I tongue at my inner lip but everything continues to taste pasty and despondent. I taste the negativity of my words in my mouth, I’d retract them if it weren’t for my drunken disposition, I’m usually not such a...
March 2010
5 posts
I didn’t say goodbye before I left, I just pulled on my coat and fumbled around in the dark for my keys. You were sleeping soundly, and I didn’t want to wake you up, I wanted to slip out of your life silently and without any sort of commotion.
I’d grown used to the layout of your room, I knew how many steps between your bed and the door (nineteen), and just how to move around in...
Guy: What about if love didn't find us?
Girl: Love is this fictitious thing that people wrap their lives around, to me love doesn't exist.
Guy: So what do we have here?
A smile spread across his face, he didn't want to be upset by her answer, instead he grabbed the side of her leg, and kissed her chapped lips.
Girl: This... this is my everything.
A tear came down her cheek, he tasted the salt on his tongue.
“Are you scared?” “No.”
I’ve always been an awful liar. I’m not sure why, maybe it’s the way I get shifty-eyed, and how my eyebrows arch high on my forehead. Or how the lie always struggles out of my mouth like my tongue doesn’t want to let me do it. It could be that I just don’t like lying, I never did. Even though years of lying have made me...
It is all the things we never voiced to one another, this thing that has been growing. We are an intimacy between two people; the loud things left unsaid in quiet spaces. It is this silence that is disturbed only by the sound of teeth against teeth, or nails against sheets, which is breaking us. We are a secret rapport, we are a mutual understanding that has grown from muteness. It wears us...
I built us a house, deep in the woods, where nobody would find us. This house, I built it from logs I chopped myself. I chopped day and night, until the webbing between my thumb and index finger was nothing more than raw skin ready to callous. Our house, it wasn’t much, but I had the blisters to prove that isn’t nothing. It would be our house, deep in the woods, far away from it all.
...