Are you awake?

I'm watching her die.

I'm watching her die, aren't I.

A pattern.  But it's not meant...


I can't watch this movie play out.

It's just pain and suffering again.  Love, love spent on something fading away.

Maybe it's why I don't want to believe in love anymore.

Because it is too real.  Because I feel it.  Because I'm watching it die.  I'm holding it in my fingers, trying to support it, trying to be there for it, trying to be what I could not when she was suffering...

Be mine, not because it will be February.

Be mine because I wanted to be yours.

Be here with me as you always were.

Please do not fade away.

Please do not leave me.

Do not mistake my inability to cry anymore for indifference.

You'll always be her to me.  You're always you to me.  You always were.


We'll fight again, we'll hug again, we'll cry again.


What is existence, anyway?


It is the absence that makes it feel like this is something.  But it feels like nothing.

I don't know what I'm saying, and I never know what I'm thinking.


What if they are gone, too?
What if he leaves, too?

Where will you all be?



Maybe nothing is the end and the beginning.
Maybe, soon, there will be peace.


I'll love you forever, whatever that means.  Take a part of me away.  I want you to have it.

I don't believe in God.

He's not always present.

A lot of the time, he is.

It's lovely, yet, it can be painful.

He'll tell you the truth, whatever that may be.  Whatever he needs.  And you'll respect it.  It will pain you both.

You'll want to tear your heart out.  He'll make you cry, even if it isn't really his fault, because it is yours.

Forward, you'll say to yourself.  You wanted his presence.  But you knew it wasn't right.  And nothing you did seemed right.

He could be a martyr.  You are the sinner.  Baptism has nothing on this shit.

Nothing is really "wrong", is it?  But you'll tear yourself apart anyway, believing what you were taught, what he feels, is everything that makes you that sinner.  May you burn in Hell.  This is your forever Limbo, and you're scratching and pawing at everything.  Tread on your skin, bring upon the raw flesh to feel some substance of what is this life, but only for a brief moment.  Because the pain doesn't last, and the stinging doesn't last, either.

Go numb.

Somewhere, here, and she's dead.

She'll come alive through the paint.

In a stroke.

But living isn't really living anymore, is it?

So, where is she?



Things were grand.  A roller coaster of emotions, she was, but she was happy.  She didn't know it.  But she was.

She had hope, back then.  I don't know where it is now.  She remembers sitting in class, nervous.  Waiting for a call that she didn't understand.  The truth was, she did understand.  But she didn't want to believe it.  So, telling herself that she didn't really know what it meant was a way for her to deny what was really going on.

The fluorescent lights outside of the classroom shed plain, pallid light in the hallway.  She snuck out there to listen to her father, his voice steady, confident.  Lies?  Or did he believe himself?  Regardless, she believed his words.  They felt safe.  They felt okay.  Her heart felt sad, but she had that hope.  Whatever the fuck that was.

"The operation went fine."

Fucking tell me what this means, I tell her.  But she's in the past, and I'm in the present.  So how the fuck will she hear me?  It doesn't matter anymore.  We're here.  She's there.  The future is dark.  Or, maybe, it is bright.

Let's practice dialectically.

I can't.  Neither can she.  She worries too much.  She was wondering if her mother would see her sister graduate.  She saw mine.  Or was that the disease?  No, no; it was her.  She saw it.


Sips, sips.  Let the liquid flow.

You know who you are, you do.  You're afraid, and I know it.  I feel it.  You're stuck.  You're so very stuck, like a small, scared animal stuck in tar.  Except time stops for you.  The world around you keeps going.  You never age.  Your body does.  People think you mature.  You do things adults do.  But, inside, you're still the same.  You're still that small, desperate child.  Well, fuck.  What do you do?  Don't be so damn afraid, child.  Even children in Neverland grow and learn.  You'll get out of this.

Let's practice.  Come alive through the paint.  This is your picture.  It's not always big.  But it's here.

Paint, bitch.  Paint.

Realizing your truths

All these dark places
We go

We're not drowning
But the liquids do douse our feathers
A lighting of a match
And the party starts
Down, down we go

Not a believer

It is still beyond me how things can be so easily taken from you.  Just like that; gone, gone forever.  It's not that sudden, because you knew it was happening, but you never believed that this would happen in your life.  You sound selfish, saying this, but it just doesn't make sense.  Gone forever, and it didn't seem like the right time.

What now?  You "move on".  Right.  Because that is so easy.  Just move on, write all that you thought would be out of your life.  Because that is so easy.

Be with me, talk with me, play with me, joke with me.  Sit with  me.  Cook with me.  Just be.

And there we have it.  Gone.

How is one supposed to "move on" when moving on had such emphasis on certain things.  You honestly cannot "move on".  You have to change things.  You need to change all of your plans.  And, even so...let's face it.  It's going to be second best.

Let's talk truth:
I'll never have what I want.
I'll never really be what I want.
Maybe I'll be what was wanted.
But, hey, I'm selfish.
And I just won't ever have what I want.

So...here's to life right now.
And here's to death later.
Maybe then will things be at peace.

Love, love always.
Always love, always love for you.
I love you, always.