I have failed you, friend (and in that one sentence, hold the complexities of the interpersonal convergence of accountability; most notably, we have no agreements for me to fail and yet.) And yet. If we do not name these things, the weaves and threads that tangle ever moreso, does that somehow make them less real? Less… Continue reading Flimsy
Tag: portraits
How You Sleep
Tell me how you sleep. I want to know the fleeting thoughts in the final seconds of consciousness that lull you toward dreams. Do you remember your dreams and if so, are they in full color? Do they start fresh every night or recur over and over like a well-loved movie? Do they tell you… Continue reading How You Sleep
Tell Me What You See
What do you see? Some days, I cannot find the best versions of myself and I decide to be the person other people seem to see in me. But I don't know what you see. I see what I am not. I see the ways in which I fail to be the length and width… Continue reading Tell Me What You See
Yes
“I love you, too,” she said, because she speaks the language of my eyes and I sink into the words like a blanket of moss beneath my hands. Soft. Certain. Steady. It might have been the first time, or the fiftieth, or that time where we have lost track of the number of times we… Continue reading Yes
Ceramic Moments
CW: references to addiction and drug use Leaning up against the car, the damp scent of new dawn permeating the air. I close my eyes, grasping a cup of coffee and remembering mornings in gas station parking lots, the condensation of my breath mixed with smoke, the shape of a styrofoam cup, the scent of… Continue reading Ceramic Moments
The Fire Came Back
The fire came back, and I can feel it tensing in my bones, running ripples down my spine. I need to burn, to feel the edge of pain pressing against a threshold, to breathe into it and through it, to know that fear and burn through to acceptance. It’s potent, visceral; I can burn anywhere… Continue reading The Fire Came Back
Weekend Dreamers
In the brisk autumn air along the tourist strip, we sat outside the Champagne Bar celebrating Sarah's thirty-something birthday-I found myself wondering if they'd given her a free bottle of champagne even though her birthday wasn't until Sunday but I had never met a person who could refuse Sarah what she wanted-and as I sat… Continue reading Weekend Dreamers
When We Were Stardust
We decided it had been a month of physical time spent together over the course of eleven years. I don’t know when we learned to reach into the guts of one another, forge our way through slimy intestines and caustic stomachs trying to deconstruct the nature of ourselves, leaving tendrils of skin cells like breadcrumbs… Continue reading When We Were Stardust
Mirrors
The wind blows differently in autumn. It carries a sense of anticipation as the world changes, infuses the air with palpable desire as the leaves dance mischievously from the branches. There is a tension inherent in the changing of seasons, but fall is the final burst of glory before the winter chill takes hold, the… Continue reading Mirrors
Letters to the Dead
“If you ask a dead man what he’s learned from dying, he’d say give and give and give---that’s how to live.” -Lovers, “Cedar Falls” His name was Neal. In the photographs, his hair tumbles to his shoulders, a flowing mane of midnight silk framing a weathered, beautiful face: guarded eyes, nearly black, and a… Continue reading Letters to the Dead
Monomaniacism 