Like your pulse

I have to be careful about the music I listen to sometimes.

I have to pick exactly the right songs.

When I miss you, some melodies are just too harsh.

Too crashing, to jangling, too rambling and loud.

When I miss you I need something soft, 

As the palm of your hand

The flesh of your lip

The beat of your pulse

I need something slow

Like the way you sometimes looked at me

The pause between "I love you"

The days between seeing you

I need something that tinkles, like a bell, and the thinnest strings of a guitar

Something that whispers and sounds like tiny strings of lights

And feels like the way your words ricocheted off every bone in my body, 

When you whispered them in my ear.

I was right.

People used to ask me why I didn't leave.

Why when we fought so much, and carried on like children sometimes

When you said ugly things and I did ugly things

And we looked at each other and it was like pressing on a bruise to see if it still hurt.

I don't answer.

I tell a joke.

I make something up.

I lie.

I don't tell them, because they don't really want to know.

They just want more gory details. More secrets.

But I save the best secrets only for myself.

So I don't tell them that there is magic in you.

That your rib cage seems to hold it like the gilded cage of ravens, and your eyes seems colored with it.

I don't tell them that I stayed 

Because there was something in you

That I was afraid I'd never find in anyone else.

And I knew then

Like I know now

I was right.

Night Swimming

When you swim at night, there are no bees. 

The kids are in bed so there are no demands being made to hold them, jump with them, watch them, throw them, help them. 

It's just you and your body and the night and water.

You move smoothly through the tepid water like sliding through velvet. This is what you imagine a cloud would feel like if you could touch one.

A floating, weightless, deep, soft pool of something that all at once is and isn't there.

Under water there aren't any sounds.

The world drops down to a muted distance, so much so that your thoughts hush too.

No replays of your last fight with your boyfriend, no repetetive thoughts about things that need to be done, no stress, no worries, no cursing all the things you forgot to do but didn't.

The world drops down to a muted distance, so much so that your thoughts hush too.

Just bubbles, the swoosh of your arms or legs cutting through the water.

You feel your body stretch and move and you feel powerful.

Strong.

Night swimming is good for you.

It's important to be weightless, effortless, and silent.

To shrug off the heat and the sound and the mistakes of life, and sink down to the very very bottom of something so cool, so soft, so quiet.

It's important to remember what your body is capable of.
That you are not the sum total of your scars, your jiggly thighs, your soft tummy.
That you are still just as strong as you ever were.
That you are still weightless.
You are still limitless.
You are still perfect.

You are still free.

Querencia

Querencia: Spanish for the place where you are your most honest and natural self; your home; the place you instinctively return to; where your heart belongs.

Coffee with you in the morning.

Holding your hand in the car.

My head on your chest.

My side of your bed.

The scent you leave on my clothes.

The sound of your laughter.

Your hand on the side of my face  back of my neck  small of my back.

You when you're with me, me when I'm with you, us when we're Us.

Here.

For a long time, the two of us have lived a nameless life.

An existence that seems to fit only between different boxes and labels, but inside none of them.

In the restless stirring of morning, as the sun spills unabashedly through your wide open windows, and I kiss your face every time I turn in my sleep to reposition myself, I feel like maybe right now, right here I might belong to you.

Not later, once we've dressed and eaten and stepped back out into the real world, with our real names and real lives. I don't ever seem to belong to you then.

Then I am just a girl.

A girl who knows you but is forever at a comfortable distance.

A girl who knows you but shouldn't ever let on to how well.

A girl who is indistinguishable from any other.

But here, here in the place where sleep is slowly retreating but wakefulness hasn't completely arrived,

Here where the morning is yawning open but the day has yet to really begin,

Here where we can still be tangled together like the sheets, like the ancient roots of trees, like all the ties that keep us together made from all the unspeakable things,

Here I can be yours and you can be mine.

And there won't be any pictures or any proof, 

Any marks across your neck or promises made that we'll have to live up to in front of anyone else.

Just the memory of the words, and the remnants of our dreams, and the space below my shoulder where you kiss me and bury your face when you don't want to be awake yet

So no one but us will ever know.

Maybe I can belong to you here.

Whitman's Widow

While I remember the days we spent exploring,

Hiking the banks of rivers and driving to new places,

The memories fade and become darker with time.

While I remember wandering the stone streets in Italy,

And I remember the dinners at restaurants we took such joy in discovering,

And I remember the liquor and the heat in the throat,

The pictures become less defined every day.

The specific dates, the names of the places, even the time frame and the seasons become unclear.

While I remember the tears and the tangled lungs and the fighting,

And I remember the frenzied grasping and the tired over-explaining,

And I remember the apologizing and the half hearted forgiving,

The sounds and the pain and the specifics of the disagreements are white washed.

A dream you know you had but cannot retell, for all the details have already escaped you.

I remember it, but not as well as I remember the feeling of you.

And of us.

The imprint of your heart on mine,

The weight of your lips and how they moved me,

Echoes of your voice and how it calmed me.

In the end all that truly remains,

Is that we were together.

I forget the rest.

*{The line "we were together, I forget the rest, borrowed from Walt Whitman's poem Song of Myself, from Leaves of Grass}

The Remains of the Day

I think in the end, you always lose the details. Eventually at least, you won’t remember the specific blue of his eyes or the exact scent of his hair. You won’t be able to immediately recall the tiny scar on the bottom of his chin, the little white crescent moon that you used to trace with your finger when you were laying in his arms. It will take you a moment to conjure the curve of his smile, or the weight of his gaze.
You’ll be reminded though, at some point.
You’ll find a box of old pictures, you’ll run into him on the street, and the remembering will feel like a gun shot in your stomach. There will be a painful sort of chill that washes over you, some kind of wave that seems to whisper “Oh…that’s right. That’s what I lost” as it passes.
You know that you’ve healed and your heart has moved on, when the pain is followed by another voice that says it’s OK, you’re OK, and this isn’t a wound you need to keep licking.
You’ll know you’re all better when the collision of disappointment and regret, is for the first time cushioned by the knowledge that if life does nothing else, it does at the very least go on.



Cigarettes and Tarot Cards

You kissed me hard and I searched your eyes for some words you might not be saying, 

But all they offered up was the color of my son's baby blanket, the blue of the ocean, the color of the sky before dawn.

So I went home and read our tarot cards by the open window.

The swords, the wands, the pentacles, death and the inverted hierophant.

Sometimes there aren't any good answers, or maybe some questions just shouldn't be asked

So I went outside for another cigarette instead, and wrote you a letter I knew I'd never send.

If I Had A Boat

If I had a boat, I would leave this place.

I would pack a few things, mostly pictures and letters, soft and tearing at the creases from being read so many times, and I would leave in the night.

I'd light a lantern on the beach and make my way. Staying close to the shore, at least at first, watching all the lights twinkle and pop like a row of sparklers waving at me from the edge of the darkness.

In the morning I'd wave goodbye, as the sun came up and each light died out one by one, moving further and further into the arms of the ocean.

If I had a boat, I would go everywhere. Down the coast of California, through the gulf of Mexico, stopping when I wanted and sending postcards back to my old home.

I'd wake up to the smell of Jasmine blooming on a warm Spring day, buy gauzy white dresses in cobble stone street markets and let the water rock to sleep beneath the blaze of a million stars, swirling upwards the way the sea swirls downward, and contemplate the weight of the moon.

If I had a boat, you would come with me and things would be simple. There would be words for feelings and answers for questions and names for every star in the sky. You would ask me if I wanted to go west or south and when the water was warm and clear we'd drop anchor and jump off the sides of our boat. Gulping salt water into our open laughing mouths and holding each other in the wonder of a weightless love.

At night we'd light candles and eat dinner on the deck, still in our swimsuits, salt in our hair. I would say that life is good and you would agree.

If I had a boat, we'd stop at ports to buy more Tequila. You would dance with me on the beach and I'd make friends with all the locals. When we stumbled back to the harbor, your arm slung around my shoulders like an anchor, you'd say you like this place and I would agree it was the best.

If I had a boat, you'd tell me stories when the ocean was rough with us to calm my nerves. I would be a princess and you would be a hero, animals would talk and your voice would drown out any thunder. You'd hold my head to your chest in the dark, extinguishing the red flame of my worry with your lips, and as we drifted off to sleep you would whisper that I make you happy, and I would agree.

You would make me happy too. 

I Don't Want to Fall In Love

I would rather not fall in love again.

Not with a boy, and all their fickle opinions and volitile desires.

Maybe with the color blue, soft blankets, green eyes, the moon.

Maybe with a rainstorm {if it ever did rain anymore}, a good book, an old picture of you.

I could fall in love with a song, the perfect harmonies and melodies and drop drum beat seaping into my chest like the loveliest of colds. A favorite affliction.

I could fall in love with the side of a face, the shape of your hands, the scent of my sleeping children.

A hot shower, a quiet evening, a long walk in the cold.

Heavy jackets, winter boots, tight jeans and good booze.

Perhaps I will fall in love with safe things.

Things that don't leave, don't lie, don't swell and fall like the sea, always changing their mind.

For now I would be OK with just knowing my heart is still capable of love, but my soul is at peace on its own.

For now I just want to know that I still can feel the way I once did.

Even if I don't.
Even if I choose not to, anymore.

I Miss You

You are seeing other people.

Setting up your online profile. Making sure every line is just right. Choosing pictures that make you look handsome. Some of them are ones I took of you. 

And I am missing you.

You're going out on dates. 

Holding the car door open for a girl you just met. Smiling at her as she giggles nervously after everything you say. Putting your hand on the small of her back, the way you used to put it on mine, as you lead her through a crowded restaurant.

And I miss you.

You are sending clever, witty, perfectly worded text messages to the girl you went out with over the weekend.

Checking in, gauging her interest, making sure she's always wanting more. Showing her a little of the charm, plenty of the humor, the perfect recipe for dizzying adoration.

And I miss you.

You are checking in with me every so often. 

Sending me a text to see how I'm doing. Make sure I'm not going off the deep end or missing work or showers or anything. Keeping things light, trying to stay friends. You aren't in love with me anymore, and you don't want me to get attached, but you feel responsible, so you can't abandon me either. You remain caring but detached.

The friendly stranger.

I know this.

I've accepted this.

But still, I miss you. 

Tomorrow I Will

Tomorrow I will dress appropriately for social interaction, instead of leaving the house in clothes that resemble my pajamas as closely as possible.

I will take my headphones and sunglasses off, make eye contact with people and smile.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will put the laundry away, and stop this perpetual circular dance around the laundry basket that I do every morning, digging like a pig for truffles to find outfits for me and the kids.

Tomorrow I will stop moping. I will pick myself up and dust myself off and say "so what?" every time the sadness backs up in my throat and tries to push tears down my cheeks.

So what.

Tomorrow I will stop smoking.

Tomorrow I will interact with my co-workers. I will be pleasant and friendly and maybe have lunch in the company of others, instead of by myself with headphones and a book so that no one will speak to me.

Tomorrow I will stop writing such depressing shit.

Tomorrow I will start writing the book that I've been saying I might write someday. I'm going to write it now.

Now as in tomorrow, I mean.

Tomorrow I am going to get my shit together.

I'm going to move on, move forward.

I'm going to be better and stronger and faster and completely free from the tangled branches I continue to let hold me down.

I will be put together, polished, professional, and all other positive adjectives that start with P.

Tomorrow I will do better.

Tomorrow.

But today...today is a very hard day.

I Want a Love

I want a love that doesn't need to be questioned, or analyzed, or discussed.

A love that simply is, and always will be.

One that needs no justification or convincing.

I want a love that is reciprocated easily.

One that looks for every reason to be near each other.

I want a love that is given, without doubt or question or fear of what anyone will think of you for it.

I want a love that grows wild in the sunlight.

I want a love that is allowed to extend into all areas of your life, and one that can, in time, bring our two lives together, eventually blurring the line between what is yours and what is mine.

I want a love that makes you proud to call me yours, that makes you want to show me off, tell everyone you know, and make sure I'm there for the big moments in your life.

I want a love that means we're best friends, a love that means we're soulmates, a love that means the past is the past and it's today, tomorrow and forever that matters.

I want a love that I can pour all of myself into.

I want a love that wants me to get close.

I want a love that forgives, a love that endures and a love that is ours.

Always, and forever. 

I Want This, I Want You

Sometimes when I spend the night at your house, I wander downstairs while you're shaving and fixing your hair, and I stand in your kitchen in my panties and your t-shirt, and I just look around.

Your things on the counters, your books on the shelves across the living room, your pans hanging from the ceiling.

The little, every day signs of you.

I think about cooking dinner with you in this kitchen when you get home from work, talking about our days and saying normal things like "Can you strain this for me?" or "Would you grab the butter from the fridge, babe?"

I want this. I want you.

Back upstairs I sit on your bed and watch you get ready in the bathroom.

It smells like your deodorant, your shampoo, your soap and your laundry.

I think about brushing our teeth together in the morning before work, at night before bed.

Slipping in and out of our pajamas, the choreographed dance of getting ready to wake up or go to sleep.

I want this. I want you.

When we sleep together, I wake up very early in the morning.

Sometimes the sun is barely straining peaches through the binds, sometimes it's still dark.

But I can tell it's morning because very early morning feels different from very late night.

It sound different, and if you pay attention you can feel the shift.

I lay beside you and listen to you breathe. I look at your face, sleep sodden and peaceful, your hair sticking up at the sides. I imagine falling asleep beside you every night. Whispering in the dark. Messing up the sheets.

I want this. I want you.

Sometimes my heart catches in my throat, and I fight back tears, because I love you in such a terrible way.
I love you in a way that living the most ordinary life would be extraordinary, as long as I was living it with you. Of course I want heart pounding adventure too (who doesn't?) but doesn't it mean something to want to love someone even in between adventures? To want to love someone when they're feverish, or tired. When life is just life and it's not particularly interesting at the moment, it would mean more still because it was ours.
I love you in such a way that I would be happy just to have both our things together on a window sill and a language only we understand.
I love you in such a way that I want to make spaghetti with you, brush my teeth with you, pet you before bedtime and hear you talk dreamily about the house you lived in when you were six. 

I want to know your favorite song, and who your first kiss was, and where you got the scar on your chin.

I want to collect all the seemingly unimportant details about you. I want to be there to adore you over morning coffee and eggs, admire you as you take out the trash, wake up in the middle of the night and kiss you because I love you in a way that just can't wait until morning.

I want this. 

I want you.

Bound

I don't know how you did it, 

And I've stayed up many nights beside you as you slept, 

Trying to figure it out.

All I know is that I met you, and without trying,

You captivated me completely.

And my wandering heart bound itself to you.

Even as my mind distracted itself with doubts,

Even as my feet lead me from one mistake to another,

My heart knew where it belonged.

And now it will be satisfied with no other home.

An Update and A Poem

So I started working on the video blog last night, and holy wow guys, that ish is hard.

I basically feel like I'm sitting there talking to myself, which gives me these weird flashbacks to when I was little and tried to convince everyone it was my choice that my only friends were stuffed animals.

I've also learned I am terribly unfunny when there's no one else around.

Somehow my humor just doesn't come out when I'm home alone talking to my camera. I can practically hear the crickets.

Super unsettling.

In any case, the video will be up tomorrow, and I will most likely be curled up in the fetal position on my floor feeling far too vulnerable and sober.

I'm a surprisingly shy person sometimes.

Anyhow, I must leave you now to go finish this video thing, so in my absence I shall leave you with a poem, and the incredibly beautiful picture of Jon Hamm from Mad Men at the top of the post.

Because HOT.

...

Make me forget my heart was ever broken.
Take your words and press them into the soft parts of my chest and make them stay there.
Wrap me in your big arms, whisper in my ear
Tell me there's no place on Earth like here.
Make me forget that promises can break like glass.
Press your lips against mine and make them stay there.
Hold me til I fall asleep, kiss me on my tear stained cheek.
Tell me that I'm yours to keep.
Make me forget that people almost always leave.
Your hands feel good in my hair and they can stay there.
Look into my eyes, put your hand over my heart
Tell me you'll follow me into the dark.
Never let me go.

Can We Still Sleep Together?

Can we still sleep together?

I don't necessarily mean have sex, I mean sleep.
It doesn't have to be a big deal. It can just be because I'm super warm, and you know exactly how to hold me. 

On the occasional Saturday night when neither of us have plans, when both of us are tired of pretending we don't miss each other, when there doesn't seem to be any reason not to, can we sleep together still?

Can we get Chinese food and meet at your house in our pajamas, and watch an old movie on Netflix in bed?

Can we fall asleep together at the exact same time, our bodies moving back into the familiar positions that we've trained each other to assume: me on my right side, you as the big spoon, your arm scooping me up and pulling me in, our fingers tangled together like the roots of Willow trees?
Slipping away, heavy and warm, the rhythm of our hearts tapping out the most familiar lullaby there is.
Like sailors who miss the smell of the sea even if they know they can no longer return to it, I will bury my face in your chest and feel sated.
It's probably my favorite thing to do with you; lying still in your arms and waiting for my mind to close it's doors.
When I'm in your bed I never have to wait very long for it to come.

In the morning we can go back to being broken up.

We can go back to being just friends who don't do things like sleep in the same bed, or ever admit they feel lost sometimes without the steady gaze of the other person.

We'll retreat away and privately put ourselves back together.
I won't tell anybody if you won't.

But just every once in a while, can we still sleep together?

Specific

I wouldn't say there was any one specific moment that made me love you.

No, I wouldn't say that.

I would say that it was a thousand small and seemingly insignificant moments that made me love you, punctuated by times where my love for you felt big enough, immense enough, to get lost in forever.



When It Rains

If it were up to me, everything would stop when it rained, and we'd be together.

For as long as the storm made music on the roof and windows, and everything outside was stuck in the twilight blue and grey of a world under water, there would be no responsibilities.

No jobs that need doing, no clocks that need winding, no houses that need cleaning, and no one that needs our attention or time but the two of us.

And there would be plenty of blankets, and more than enough pillows, but the only one I'd need would be your chest.

One arm wrapped around my waist, and an entire afternoon of torrential downpour, 

Drowning out the sound of everything else that makes so much noise, and distracts me from your smile.

From the blue of your eyes

And the smell of your skin

And the way the palm of your hand on the side of my face makes me sleepy

If it were up to me the only thing we'd be required to do when it rained

Would be being together.

I'm Just Asking

I'm not asking for much. I don't want to be demanding. I hate pulling on shirt sleeves and knowing that I'm taxing someone with my questions and requests. I just want one thing. I just want to know that you still feel the same about me. That you never stopped feeling about me the way you did when I was all you wanted in the world. When you would've given anything to kiss me again. When our time together was precious. I just want to know you still love me like you did on the nights when we took off everything, not just our clothes, and you made constellations out of the freckles on my back and I knew I was home.

I just want to know that your heart still aches when you think about losing me. That your heart still leaps when you see me at your door. That when you kiss me, you still sink down to the bottom of the sea.

I'm not asking for much. 

I just want to know I'm still your everything.