I'm thinking about you and us and how it used to be and

I'm still trying to decipher that text/you in general. And I guess this isn't a eulogy

It's more of a crappy constellation of thoughts because I haven't made up my mind. All I can think about is the Shirt that I hate and the Week before homecoming, Us hand in hand and Your arms around mine, grilled cheese, Downton Abby (I still haven't watched it) the Mumford concert and M83, and mostly how I wish we lived in the same city. 

XX 

R

Having a Coke with You

and I'm jealous of the cold glass bottle because it is holding your hand and touching your lips
and I'm jealous of the story you are telling about traveling to the Traversera de Garcia in Barcelona in the middle of August
partly because in your button up shirt you looked like a better version of the Boy I've always imagined 
partly because of my love for you, partly because the look of your red tousled hair hits me in the soft parts of my heart,
partly because of how you say first & last names, especially mine
and it is hard to believe that when I'm with you there can be anything as beautiful as the color that runs across your fingertips and down the page and into the river.
In the 9 o'clock shadow, I am sitting by the pond where we used to come and I am jealous of the 9 o'clock shadow you have in Nakatsu that makes the sun go down and the one that makes you no longer warm. But the shadow is with you.
and I am not.

I look
at the polaroid of you and I would rather look at that then the Rembrandt or Renoir that I love and except possibly I would look at Nighthawks occasionally and anyway it is in Chicago
which thankfully you haven't gone yet so we can go together the first 
time.

And I am jealous of the time you spend with the people there and how special you probably seem to them 
and I'm jealous
of the carefully selected words you choose to use with them 
and the tie you wear because it is around you neck and close to your warm skin 

and I'm angry at everyone who doesn't realize your value because
it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I'm telling you about it



XX
Rothko

(To watch Frank O'Hara read the original poem click here)

I don't know if this makes sense, but:

"..lacking are all the sounds, smells, and spatial complexity of the outdoors. A man-made habitat can never replace the real thing. Animals need a very high peel of psychological stimulation to survive and with inadequate habitats it can take a toll on their mental state."

I read a whole argumentative essay for an english class (that I hate) about how keeping animals in zoos decreases their life span by 90% and how they become so mentally distressed they form unnatural habits.

All I could think about was how their soul depends on being free.

Their soul depends on it.






XX
Rothko

MH370

I can't get a single piece of paper to say airborne, yet everyday, there are some 50,000 flights and 3 million people flying and each time there are 500 tons of metal flying for hours in the air, and we've walked on the moon.

(What I'm trying to tell you is that I don't understand how that works. Or how ships float or where wind comes from.)

My dad can still remember getting let out of school to watch the space shuttle take off, and you'd think with something as beautiful as flight, airplanes wouldn't go missing.

But they do.

Maybe it's because I don't understand the laws of physics or how displacement works or maybe it's because I still think we don't have a right to fly and I know I’m supposed to "Be where my feet are!” but my thoughts can't help but run and I know my feet won't do that.

XX

RR

Casey Neistat and everything else:

I hope I'm more than the sum total of my parts but I know it's possible to be less and it has been months since the last time and all I really wanted was a pizza hot pocket and every time I see cheetahs by my house or stripes on a car I can't help but think of you. (It doesn't happen a lot because there are exactly zero cheetahs by my house.) All I want to do is watch Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century, but it is IMPOSSIBLE to find it online and I don't have $52 to spend on a VHS. I've been listening to Ellie Goulding's 'Dead in the Water' for four days now. (Makes me wonder what Halcyon Days are?) (Also sometimes I forget to breathe when I listen to it.) Last week it was 'Great Indoors' from JM, so there's that. I was on the back of his bike today and there is just something about the wind cutting through your jeans, especially on your shins, and the speed forcing you to lean forward and the fact that you'll never have to wear a seat belt.

PS. He likes riding on a bike, too. You can just tell. 

XXROTHKO

Everytime I laugh I get heartburn. (Really, though.)

I've been running around this track for miles because I was told it would help and because I'm supposed to train my body and stretch my muscles and I've learned to force my mind to think and there is no part of my body that is independent- and yet my heart still decides to do things uncontrollably and if I got any closer it would have beat out of my chest. They told me that's why hearts were put in cages but it still doesn't make sense to me why bones are only held by skin and the skin goes where the brain tells it AND THE HEART IS SCREAMING AND THE HEAD IS YELLING;

and the bones are moaning (like they have any idea what to do) and the phrase 'internal war' has taken on a whole new meaning.

Maybe I should follow my skin. 

XX 

(I didn't want to be your ghost.)

The Monday before the Last Day was the first time I cried about her. I was in the corner of my room. It was also the first time I wished the wood floor was carpet.

I remember that weekend. October. My dad had just bought a new car and my family was all outside, barefoot, walking around it.

My mom made breakfast that morning. I didn't ever like pancakes.



He held her hand as she died.

I talked to him that night and it was the first time I'd ever seen him cry. And I would try and describe it to you but there are no words that explain how wet my shirt was or how red our eyes were or how broken a heart could get. It's the kind of sad that turns crying into broken sobs- like you'll never get enough air.

And it's all about air and air comes in pairs unless it's the first or the last-

and she deserved more pairs then she got.


XX