sadness in the new, sadness is the old

you know i come here to listen to sad songs and think about how to say whatever it is that i can't say

it's not words it's physical

enough talk let's fuck

our hearts out our stomach top of the roller coaster i'm going down

to the bottom


to lie here and think about

why bon iver's first album is still so good

and winter in a minnesota cabin

between the trees some frozen tears


i could feel them fuck between the walls

remembered what it's like to reach through and grab nothing

press yourself against the wall

like a magnet from a distance


how many ways to say whatever it is i can't say

i can't say but i know now

i mean i think i know     you guys    i think i know

i didn't choose this but i want it


nostalgia 101 - a hundred different things about love

And You Didn't Ask Why

You wake with your face sticky with sweat and you shiver in the chill of the morning. You roll yourself out of bed and you pull on a sweater and you pull the hood over your forehead. And you stumble down the hall to the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. And your feet on the cold kitchen tile make you shiver in the chill of the morning. The blue light of the morning crawls through the window which faces an alley off a street you've never been to. Right behind your own home there are places you've never been to. And the building on the other side casts shadows all day long. There are squirrels eating through the plastic garbage bags on your balcony and there is a cat in the kitchen with his face pressed to the window and you eat instant oatmeal in the middle of the kitchen watching it all. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you know no profound things.

four full years ago

i am sitting here, january 8 2013. here i sit. in my chair. on the internet.

four whole years ago i wrote this little poem and thus began a long relationship between my thoughts and the internet.

this blog has been through some weird times. i think, in these four years, i essentially grew up, and i documented a lot of that right here. and i'm still growing.

when i first started this blog i had just turned 18, i was living at home, and i was starting cegep. now, i just turned 22, living in my third apartment in as many years, and i'm going to graduate university in a few months. i fell in love and i fell out of love, over and over again. the friends i had when i was 18, the good ones, the real ones, i still have them. and i have new, good friends. they are all amazing. you are all amazing.

this blog peaked in about 2010 when i updated a lot and told people i was updating a lot. and i met some pretty cool people in that way. when i thought i would say goodbye to being on the internet for a little while, you were all so wonderful and sweet so i didn't. and i think i realized that i can't, anyway. if i wanted to stop writing i couldn't. which is why, now, i think, it matters less to me who reads. i love it, of course, if you're reading, but i don't think i'm writing anymore so that people read. i'm just writing.

here we all are. somewhere, in the world. and here i go, starting year five of writing in this little space. i'm not getting sentimental. i mean, whatever.

mont-royal/montreal

une belle année ou quoi

oh no?

or was it?

what happened?

who cares?


just a little older

is all

a little younger

a little sadder

a little happier



i did some terrible

or

impressive

things



more time

inside me

or

less?



ah

who cares

kiss me

cheap honesty I.

MY DEAR FRIENDS, YOU ARE FUCKED. I LOVE YOU FAR TOO MUCH.

++

dec 6 2012

it would be really irresponsible for me to work 6am-3pm tomorrow right. and i should not be swayed by whoever picks up the phone

you cannot, emily. you HAVE to write your paper. seriously

do you know what it is. it is because if i don't go to work i don't leave the house. i need to go to therapy for my work related issues.

yeah....

i said no but i feel sad about saying no. i think i will take a shower.

maybe you should sign up for a hobby related class.

++

thinking of you listening to neko case

omg love neko case. what song are you listening to.

polar nettles

++

do you know any straight girls who wear men's underwear

random. i don't think so.

do you know any gay girls with long nails

yes...

...

.....

slash laughing alone in my room

did you finish your sound project?

i am finishing it now. so close. hence the hysteria. i keep getting interrupted by oscar who whines every time i close the door. then he stares at me when i open it

my roommate's cat used to do that. it made me hate him.

++

is darren being understanding?

yes he is amazing. he said he won't deduct marks as long as i hand it in while he's still marking the other papers.

wtf he is jesus. my idol.....

i know right

at least it's more generous than my 5 hour extension. ....which i didn't make.

++

dec 7 2012


i'm like moses: my body turns coffee into water.

some time later....

my shoulder feels dislocated

hola moses, mi examen final es hoy. then i am SO DONE. when are you finished?

tuesday

saweet. i smell a party.

well i was supposed to be mostly done this tuesday, but then i handed in everything late because of a mental breakdown and i'm still writing an essay because i'm a retard.

this is why we're friends, FYI.

i know i was thinking of you and how you're probably suffering just like me. we need to get out soon.

just found out my exam is 12 pages. 12 pages of spanish madness. officially getting off my phone.....now. see you when your social life finds you.

++

i got your other texts this morning because i was in bed..........i go to bed really early.

i know, because you wake up really early. i have 730 words written.

++

why are you calling me?! slash i bet it's a pocket dial.

one: i love how shocked (appalled?) you are that i might call and, two: it was a pocket...or book dial - i dropped my book on my phone b/c it sounded like one of the babies was dying in her sleep

you told me you never call people. for 2 seconds i felt really special. i hope the baby is ok.

indeed you are special, regardless. the baby turned out just to be snoring in the most old man way ever.

++

i am in a van, cramped up against the back because the self-entitled man in front of me put his seat far back. i feel like throwing up on the back of his head.

you should put your knees on his chair

ha, that is my plan.

damn those self entitled men. and the patriarchy.

you have no idea how much i hate men. sometimes i forget but it is always there, just simmering below the surface......probably only 5 percent kidding.

one day i will make you talk about your lesbian escapades....

one day.

soon.

++

dear darren, essay writing is going slowly because i am taking pictures of myself spooning my cat.

dear dr. cahill, your paper is still not in but i did spend an hour reading about how katy perry isn't a feminist and crafting an erudite facebook reply.

++

it's gotten to the point where i'm literally just collaging things other people have said about gail scott together and the only things i have written are "she argues that..."

hmmm....i suspect that is not going to work well....for darren....

i hope he appreciates my research. i did say that julie doucet and gail scott are both from montreal.

i just literally laughed out loud and i am in a van full of strangers.

how is that going by the way. are you almost there?

we are more than half way to toronto and i made the self-entitled asshole move his chair. he was rude (INDIGNANT) about it, if you can imagine (he has what is known as a "bucket seat" and so he is not even sharing/sitting beside someone!). 

well he is an idiot. those are the best seats.

yeah. basically that was the look i gave him and then i kneed his seat for extra effect.

you're the best.

i knooooowww..my bum is so NUMB. ....my text was in response to the seats being the best - i don't think my numb bum makes me the best. just so you don't think that.

++

I HAVE 3 HOURS TO WRITE 500 WORDS

YOU CAN DO THAT!

AHHH

half of that can be your conclusion!

the essay honestly makes no sense. it's kind of funny. at least i choose to see it that way

++

is it legal to rent an apartment in another country if you don't have a working visa (and you're not working)

no. but lots of people do it.

why is it not legal?

um i don't know. i think because you aren't doing anything there? maybe i am wrong but i don't know.... i guess if within a limited time...maybe?

hm. will do more research at a later date.

++

1,743 words i am so close i am so close i'm going to cry

yesssss. i knew you could do it!

i'm excited but slightly worried because this literally two essays about different things ... except that they are both from montreal!!! that sentence didn't even make sense.

something hiding for us in the night

[something hiding for us in the night - the wooden sky]

i know i already posted this song 2 years ago when i first saw the wooden sky in montreal. but i'm posting it again because i just saw them play on saturday, and i this is my favourite song by them.

i was thinking about how the wooden sky is one of the bands that i've seen play most often in my life. it's not a lot; 3 out of the 4 times they've been to montreal in the last 2 years. but i went with the same person every time, and that's kind of a nice a feeling. i was thinking about how just because i'm doing the same things i did 2 years ago doesn't mean i'm not different. doesn't mean i haven't changed.

i'm scared that i don't change. i mean, i always worry that i'm not growing, that i'm making the same mistakes over and over again. but i have changed, and i do change.

yeah, i'm different now. it's okay, you know. i'm talking to myself. it's okay.

and if that mean old city gets you down...
i'll be around, i'll still be around.

look at what i did now

in an airport hotel
so i touch your bones for the last time

the sun rises through the window

planes lift their heavy wings
fly over our heads

this balcony gives an excellent view of sky

so at four in the morning i pack my bags
and dive right in

sweet blue tastes like sugar sticks and nescafe

asphalt tastes like clean sheets soft mattress all alone

so i guess what i'm trying to say
is that i'm home

it was a beautiful shitty place

names changed for privacy.

i used to live in a shitty apartment in the plateau, surrounded by nicer looking triplexes. the landlord was a busy jewish man with a black suv who banged vigorously on our door for rent every month. i found my roommates on craigslist. i think originally it was supposed to be a one-bedroom apartment but was then turned into a three-bedroom to fit more people. greg's room used to be a closet i think. my room was bigger than his but also small. it could fit a single bed in one direction only. i painted my room green and it was kind of ugly and i left it there when i moved out. nobody ever used the living room. we didn't even have a table until greg bought a tiny tv tray which tilted slightly on the uneven floor. kevin's friend who used to live there before i did still had a pile of stuff in the living room. he never picked it up in all the 8 months that i lived there. it included a tv, a basketball, a book about mao zedong, and a bright blue bra which appeared out of nowhere one day.

one time, i listened to post-war by m. ward a lot and it was beautiful and things hurt but a good kind of hurt, you know? i remember lying in my blue sheets in my green room trying to figure out what 'home' meant.

and absence ate the year

october 21 2010

now, now, it's broken now. all of it, all of us. i am up late again, waiting for a bus. the sky is a worn midnight wash, i mean, that's a real colour. i felt i knew it all along, and now i feel it, painful, hungry again, lonely on the way home from work.

i would like an invitation, would like to stop dreaming about a white shirt i've never seen you wear. would i even go? no, no, no. can't stop dreaming. would like to say, i like your smile. just saying.

no, wait, wait, yes. it's still pretty. would like to ask permission to kiss you outside but i'm too shy. ok, go, i am sure, this is a bad idea. lean. leeeeean.

the man asleep doesn't know when he's missed his stop. is he dreaming of you like i do, no, is he haunted by a ghost, hungry for something real. no. i am tired and i know, i shouldn't kiss you on the mouth, shouldn't accidentally touch your blouse. but, i know. i am hungry for something real. i am cold on the way home from work because it's windy and that's how the world works.

++

stephen dunn: "from the start all i wanted to explain was how things go wrong, how the heart's an empty place until it is filled"

i can never say how we got here. how i became me and you became you. how we believed that no one would leave before we were ready, until they did. how i learned that absence can grow or diminish, and nothing is for sure. how absence is easily replaced by another body that makes the same motions, and then it's fine i guess. how absence is actually just nothing over again against the side of your brain, saying there is nothing now where there once was something.

i remember sitting on that bus thinking about jeans, and absence ate the year, and i brushed against your shoulder.

today my body trembled a little bit when i thought of you. that's a whole other beat. it's a whole other hole.

why is everything so weird

i wrote this thing in october 2010 about the landmarks that were approaching in my life. it was called 'why is everything so weird'. instead i posted this. reading this right now makes me feel weird.

Late November, early December

Around this time I started working at American Eagle, which was supposed to be a Christmas job, and yet I'm still here even though I live far away from where I work. I also don't know how I feel about this. In the past 2 months American Eagle has been the only thing keeping me sane because it's the only thing in my life that's remained familiar. I genuinely like everyone I work with and I'm writing it here even though I don't think any of them read this, which is totally fine. I don't know if I'm good at my job.

If I didn't work at American Eagle I probably would never have talked to any of the people I work with, and I don't think they would have talked to me. And that's okay, because we're different, kind of, and I would never have applied if I hadn't already been friends with someone who worked there. I'm glad I get to work with people I wouldn't have otherwise met.

I've been thinking about my job lately, and people keep asking me why I don't get transferred since I live in the city now, and I can't really explain why except that it's become kind of comforting. I've even (sort of) come to enjoy being the janitor on Sunday mornings. I don't know. They should pay me more to clean the light fixtures, I probably have 5 pounds of dust in my lungs or something.

++

Everything is so weird. I guess this is called "growing". Why do things have to mean something? None of these dates are really important, except maybe my birthday which is important to society and possibly my grandmother. I don't know what life will be like this time next year, I don't want to know, don't tell me. I wouldn't believe you anyway.

i think i remember having a dream around this time about someone in a white cotton shirt. i think my life is the same but different.

moving week

today: work, pack, make pizza for dad's bday dinner

tomorrow: work, move into new apartment

monday: find a grocery store that's open, unpack

tuesday: school, get internet set up, don't panic

wednesday: work, school

thursday: school, work

friday: NOTHING! YAY!

satuday: workworkworkworkwork

Then I had to stop crying and eat dinner.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

wore sweatpants today. no longer care if i run into [redacted].

Monday, November 1, 2009

Today I bought cigarettes so I could stand outside on Maisonneuve and potentially see [redacted]. Except that I bought bitchsticks and she wasn't there.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Goal of the day: don't cry. Accomplished. Got the job at American Eagle. Really, really, really tired. 2 exams left.

Saturday, November 14 2009

Went bar hopping on St. Laurent. Decided to text [redacted*]. She never answered. Met up with [redacted] at Biftek. [redacted*] was there. She ignored me. I got drunk.

++

Wednesday, October 27 2010

She said she really wants to hug me in the winter. Then we talked about other things which were nice, like sweaters and heat.

Monday, November 1 2010

tried to get some work done on my break but didn't accomplish much. Went grocery shopping at night.

Wednesday, November 10 2010

worked 6-9:30. [redacted] got mad at me for standing around and made me feel bad. But I had just zoned out and there was nobody in the store.

Sunday, November 14 2010

She asked if it was something she said but it wasn't. I didn't know what it was. I went in my bed and cried and had a breakdown but I don't know why. I just felt lonely. Then I had to stop crying and eat dinner. Also [redacted] said she bought me something for my birthday. Everyone is so nice to me and I don't know why.

st laurent to mont-royal

When we climbed up to the top of the mountain it was like 4am and I was pretty drunk. It was cold it was sometime in November I think. No, it must've been October because Ryan didn't hate me yet. It was just me and him and Karen and I think Ryan liked her at that time. I liked Casey but she kept getting me down. That night I had seen her outside the bar sitting on some other guy's lap and ignoring me, well screw that.Why do girls do that. Let's go to the mountain Ryan said. You'll feel better. So we went up the mountain and I was feeling pretty down and Ryan and Karen were racing each other. Karen was so fast it was like they were so free and I felt heavy 'cause I couldn't run as fast as them. But when we got to the top the air was so fresh and I didn't care about anything anymore. Except maybe I was feeling down that Ryan and Karen were making eyes at each other. We stuck ourselves in a telephone booth to keep warm and wait for the sunrise. We must've listened to Bon Iver because whenever I hear "re:stacks" I think of running up the mountain and the view and the cold air. But later that song would come to mean something else to me and that was alright. The sunrise wasn't even that good I think it was on the other side of the mountain. But after that night I didn't care about Casey anymore. We went down the mountain and I was feeling pretty good about it and I fell asleep on the bus.

That was all before Karen moved to Thailand and I met Lainey who's a good girl. I don't get drunk anymore but sometimes I miss those days when it hurt to breathe. I guess no one's hurt me like that since then so I never needed to go back. Everyone changes I learned so we just grew up like everyone else. And growing up doesn't mean not fitting in telephone boxes anymore it means not wanting to or not even being there to do it. Shouting "fuck you Casey!" into the night doesn't mean anything anymore. When we were young we used to hear our voices ring around the city, now we just hear it in our heads. We don't let people get us down like Casey got me down anymore. But sometimes I miss climbing the mountain thinking that's what love is.

"The Year In Review": A Few Things I Remember

1. [f a l l i n g in and out and in and o u t of love]

With everything, and everyone, constantly. I just can't do the highs and lows. Well, sometimes I don't understand me and sometimes I don't understand you. I don't know you or me. I don't understand the happiness or lightness of love; I don't understand the sadness and excessive weight of love. I've given you all and now I'm nothing.

2. ["Christmas is S O D U M B."]

I am Scrooge/The Grinch. Whatever. Christmas is stupid. I'm only partially sorry if that offends you. What is Christmas about anyway? Is it the birth of Jesus? I honestly don't even know. I don't even really care. All I want for Christmas, really, is some new socks. Because the majority of my socks have holes in them. I am happy that I am escaping this Christmas obsessed world and going to a tiny bubble in the middle of nowhere with people who also don't care about Christmas.

(Alright, so Christmas hasn't happened yet, but today on the metro I saw a man with a Christmas tree and I thought "oh yeah, I guess it's about that time to throw out Christmas trees" and then I realized that December 25th hasn't actually happened yet. That's how much I care about Christmas.)

3. [g r a dua t ing]

I did it.

4. [s u m m e r in America]

It was hot. There were fireworks and a parade and everyone I love in Riese's living room. I feel sad and nostalgic because it will probably never happen again, I mean, not like that. You and I are not the same people anymore. But we are still beautiful.

5. [moving i n and o u t and in and out of h o m e]

Frequently I ask myself "why do I live here" and fail to produce a decent answer. Then one night I slept in my old bedroom and felt annoyed at all the space. My room was too big. It doesn't matter. Nothing is ever clean in my apartment. But my small room feels at least a little more like home. It's warm and the bed is comfortable. It's safe.

I still feel like I don't know where I live, or where home is. I guess that's normal.

6. [the year in r e v i e w]

I remember parts of the year. I remember February, vividly. I remember March and feeling high and happy and perfect. Things made sense in March. I think I went on a camping trip in April. I remember my legs sticking to the seat of the bus in May. June and July are stuck together in a gooey mess of sweat and kisses and tears. August is one long train ride to nowhere. September - November is 10,000 feelings I'd like to erase. I am drained and pulled apart.

I am tired and I'd like to stop counting. I'd like to stop counting backwards and forwards. Sometimes all I know is that I'm a mirror of other people's feelings and opinions, a composition of people who came before me. Sometimes I'm amazed at the love I feel, and the strangeness of how I can love people I don't know, so much so that I turn the people I claim to love into strangers. Sometimes I'm surprised at how angry I am, when I don't know where that anger comes from. But mostly I'm surprised/unsurprised at the way the world heals itself, and how when everything feels upside down, the world will turn you over again.

"I love the number of people

you can love at the same time,

one deep, erotic love,

radiating even to strangers,

cynics, making a temporary sense

of the senseless, choreful day."

- Stephen Dunn "Loves"

Is this year over yet.

that secret that we know, that we don't know how to tell

can i tell you a secret.

'teenage dream' by katy perry plays at work and more than once it has almost made me cry. now i am listening to it on repeat but i don't know why.

last year -- december 2009 -- i was wandering up and down a street i knew too well. i was always looking for this one person without trying to make it look like i was looking for her; i was smoking cigarettes outside leaning on trees; i was stumbling down mountains and listening to bon iver and crying and desperate all the time. my money was gone and i was drunk as hell.

sometimes my secret is this: the ground is wet with snow but it is not snowing. the air is damp like it was just raining and the glow of lights reflect on the pavement. car lights. street lamps. i want to chain smoke. i am surrounded by people and all at once i am happy and sad and alone and hopeful. the night is just beginning and there are still places we haven't been.

sometimes my secret is this: i do not know the difference between being in love and wanting a mother. i am sorry. i do not know the difference.

one year ago -- december 2009 -- i was standing in the fitting room at my job. a song was making me cry. in my mind the street i seemed to always be standing on was upside down; my feet were on the sky. that's the way i walked around.

sometimes i have no secrets and it makes me feel bare but no one asks. a secret is hidden; if there is nothing to hide but no one is looking then what is there. am i secret if i don't exist. whose secret am i. what is the point of a secret if not to reveal it one day.

lately my secret has been that grey's anatomy makes me cry. i just let myself sink into this hand crafted world where people live and die with the stroke of a pen. and when parents hear that their children are dead and they break down in each other's arms, i break down too. i let myself cry over this tv show because it's easier than crying over real life.

tell me a secret if you so desire.

++

I am in love
with the way I see the world.
But I am all alone there.
- Matthew Rohrer "Hone Quarry"

i don't feel this way, but it's a beautiful line.

truth about women

it’s the middle of winter. i think winter is perfect for breathing close to someone when you’re outside and hiding your hands somewhere. i wonder why it is always winter when these things start.

it’s the middle of winter and i don’t have boots on. i have shoes on and they are wet. my knees are wet because i fell to the ground to look at the sky. i thought it might answer some questions but i guess since the sky can’t talk it just snowed on me. it snowed on everyone else too.

i tried to make the place i live a home. i try to drink something warm every day. i’m afraid in the middle of the night my bones might freeze if i don’t continually stir the fires in my finger tips. i wonder how long it would take for someone to find my frozen bones and all it would take is another body in my bed and i might just melt a little. well, the truth was that i was waiting for somebody. i was waiting for her to come to the place i try to call a home because i thought maybe, well, i thought she said she would. but that was a long time ago.

it’s hard when you’re in love with everyone in the world. i want to say “you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen” i want to say that to everyone i meet, ‘cause it’s the honest truth, every time i look at them, god, i think, good god, you’re beautiful, and you, you’re beautiful too, you’re all so goddamn pretty i can hardly stand it. i love them all. i love you all and you don’t even know it. you’re beautiful and you know it so you don’t hear me when i say it.

you’re beautiful and you love each other and you don’t love me and i love you, all of you, and i say, i love you, and you, well, you. there you are.

time is strange because it’s never quite the same everywhere. somewhere it is summer. somewhere on the opposite side of me.

you wore a white shirt and you said something in my ear and it made me love you. i said that i didn’t love you before but now i do. i like that shirt you wear. i like those black framed glasses. you have your hand on my arm and inside my head i’m like “yes!yes!yes!”

no, wait.

that was a dream.

i’m wearing these shitty converse with holes in them and my feet are freezing already. i’m walking home at night, in fact, it may already be tomorrow, and there is slush in my shoes and inside of my socks. i wear my collar high or else the wind might come inside too, and then my bones would shiver, and they can’t take a shiver right now, they’re just waiting for a shake. but no one grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye and says “shake shake shake”. shake shake shake.

i thought i’d be home by now but i’m not home. and you know what, i’m mad because i can hardly take it, you know, i can hardly stand it, i feel like kicking concrete. i’m mad at all the things; the wind, my dreams, the height of my ceilings, her glasses, cold tea.

i happened to be there one night. i never go there but then i was there instead of being somewhere else. that’s how things happen. it starts like i was doing my ordinary thing but then something changed. so something changed. so i was there. you were there, surrounded by friends or just other people. i carried you home and laid you on my bed. i said “i’m here,”

and you said,

“i want to go home”.

and home it is. keys and stuff. asleep in the next room. i stay up because i think she might call me. i remember that time is different if you’re not in the same spot as me, and she’s not. but i stay up because maybe, just maybe.

i had things tentatively planned. i thought she could maybe help me pick some winter boots. i thought we could stumble home from the bars and it wouldn’t seem so long and far. i thought maybe we’ll eat dinner somewhere, or maybe i’ll cook her dinner, or maybe both, or maybe more. she could walk to the bus stop with me. that’d be a nice change from standing with the lonelies who have gathered at the same spot for the same reason but can’t connect ‘cause they were born with lonely in their blood.

she didn’t call.

i’m so fucking in love with all of you. i’m so fucking in love and it hurts. it’s a million heartbreaks and i can’t go back. i can’t ever go back. once i was on the outside and it was a dull pain, the inside was a real heart but i’m not there anymore. and i can’t go back to anywhere. i’m so fucking lonely i might shrivel up into blank paper.

i barely sleep at night. i wander through dreams of people that i know but not well enough. in my dreams they are my friends but in real life we don’t know each other well enough to call it that. i wake up confused about the time. i think it’s morning when it’s 4 am and i start to get dressed only to check the clock and i can’t fall back asleep again.

when she finally called i hated every word i said to her. i was a sad puppy child full of contradictions. i cried quietly so she wouldn’t hear but all i wanted was for her to hear so i could get some attention. but i didn’t know what i wanted. but i knew what i wanted. but i wanted to cling to her body, looking for some kind of primeval comfort that i’m too shy to ask for when i’m sober. i couldn’t ask because i knew she couldn’t give. i didn’t know if she would call again. but i wanted it, yes, yes i did, so honestly that my own honesty hurt me.

after she called my eyes broke and i ate a half-cooked half-dinner. no, it wasn’t even half-cooked.

it’s not about you this time, i guess. it’s about me. it’s because i tried really hard. i mean, i really tried, i tried so hard that you didn’t even notice because everything i did was perfect. i was so fucking perfect. and i still lost.

i felt the fabric of your shirt, your white shirt. it touched my fingertips. i put my face to your chest and it touched my face. your arms were a blanket. i liked the way small parts of my skin stuck to your skin and the way you smelled and the way you breathed like it was a normal thing to do. you know i was still learning how. inside my heart i breathed a steady “yes, yes, yes”.

it was a dream. sometimes waking up from a dream is harder than other times. i can’t help myself for wanting it, for wanting you, for wanting her, for wanting everyone. time is hard, but time is not the same everywhere. somewhere else there is good time and the truth is that we will get there, all of us, every single one of us. because we’re so beautiful, we’re the most beautiful people ever made, and that’s the honest truth, i think, good god, we’re beautiful, and i love you, i really do, every single person, and all the doubles too.

inside my heart i breathe,

“yes, yes, yes.”

This Train Is A Long Goodbye

Have you ever been on a train and dreamed about being on a train? Well, I have. I woke up at 4 this morning to catch a train that would take me to a place where I could get on another train. I fall asleep on the second train, and that's where I have my dream.

I was asleep on the train and then I woke up. Someone I knew was sitting next to me. She wanted me to read to her aloud. She couldn't read the word 'schedule'. I tried to read aloud but every time I did a few words would come out and then my mouth would hang open and I wouldn't be able to close it. I could only make sounds in the back of my throat. I knew that I was capable of reading aloud, only my mouth wouldn't move. I fell back asleep.

When I woke up there were a few little girls boarding the train. They must've been 9 or 10 years old. One of them sat next to me. I dozed off. I woke up and one of their friends was getting on at a new stop. She had a striped blue and white shirt. My clothes were all out of my bag. How did that happen? The girls seemed to be running away from something. They huddled together and spoke to each other as if they had a plan. I started picking my clothes up off the floor and putting them back in my bag. I had to reach over the girl next to me. Sorry, I said. I went back to sleep.

I wake up in real life with a little bit of drool on the side of my mouth and a slight fear that if I try to speak my mouth will hang open and never close again. There is a person beside me in a striped shirt. It has only been an hour and a half since I fell asleep. I'm supposed to be asleep for the next 10 hours.

Have you ever said goodbye to someone at a train station? Have you ever sat in your seat and looked out the window and the person you care about is standing there waiting for the train to leave? I have, and all I want to do is jump out the window and leave the train behind. But the train starts to move and my girl starts to cry. I want to ask someone when I will see her next but I'm afraid to know. I lay down across two seats and let small tears crawl down my cheek. Hey, how're you doing… the ticketman comes to collect my ticket. His voice trails off as he sees me crying and he avoids eye contact. I fumble with my ticket. Sorry, I say. He says nothing. I go to sleep. I want to sleep until the boa constrictor in my chest unravels and slinks away.

When I wake up again on the second train the person in a striped shirt is gone. I am unsure if they were ever there or if it was something I dreamed into life. There is no evidence of their being there. I want to go back to sleep but instead I write. The shake shake of the train makes me feel like vomiting when I stare at my screen. I write until I feel fully nauseous. I want to be asleep. I write 'I want to be asleep'.

I want to be asleep.

I have a brown paper bag full of snacks for the train, but I'm not hungry. I pick at the food on top; chips, some candy, and a peanut butter bar. It is only till much later that I check the bottom of the bag for more food. There's a napkin underneath with words written on it and I feel my throat close up and my eyes burn again. There is a flood behind my eyelids and if I keep them closed it will not leak out. To anybody else, I suppose, the napkin is just a napkin. But to me it's a little bit of home, or a little bit of a place where there's warmth and comfort. It's a part of a safety blanket. I keep it at the bottom of the bag.

The train is very cold. I wear your shirt and your sweater and your hat. I want to feel like I am wearing you, but it just feels like I am wearing your sweater.

++

In relation to the earth and the universe, we are just two tiny blips on a very big map. There are many people who have lived before us, and many who will live after. There are many people in our time who we will never meet, who will never know us separately or together, will never be touched or changed by us, will never know our names. We will likely be lost in the history books, but we have found each other. We exist to love and to be loved, to know that our own stories are enough.

The Supreme Art of Letting Go

The slow change of summer to fall, and we sit in denial. It's not quite happening yet, but you begin to think to yourself that you need a new pair of boots, and your mind briefly passes over that sweater you will wear when the weather changes -- it hasn't changed yet. But you know it will. It's happening right in front of your eyes.

For a while you refuse to shed the light t-shirts and shorts, until, undeniably it is fall and then possibly winter, and your shoes are wet from snow that melts when it touches the ground. But you still don't wear those boots, and your jacket is a sweater inside of which you shiver once or twice. One day you wake up and go outside and your breath catches in your throat and you know it's time to get the heavy-duty stuff; the hats and gloves, longjohns, big sweaters, and the hibernation attitude that allows you to trudge through dirty snow on your way home, where you will wear all these things. The days are short, but you knew this was coming. You saw it happening, it happens every year. But you are just not ready.

++

Slow change is like this. You wake up next to somebody and know that soon your bed will be empty, because summer is leaving and you are hungry. You can see the day when there will be no more hot whispers in your ear, no more christmas lights in August because it is no longer August, no more warm fireplace, no more warm body next to you, no more fingers on green shirts, no more kisses or touches or toothy grins kissing touching toothy grins.

Denial is easy and you hold on to it for as long as possible, but little by little you put the sweaters in the front of your closet, preparation for the coming cold. You don't wear them yet though. Summer is leaving, you know this, but you are just not ready for it to go. Knowledge does not make it easier, in fact, very little makes it easier.

++

You feel, and you let yourself feel it. You let the fall sharpness bite you, just for a second, before you wrap yourself up, and you hold it inside yourself, and then you inhale and exhale and you let it go. You breathe the cold air out and then you breathe in and out some more, because that's what you have to do, breathe the cold air out of your lungs until there is no more, and then you walk. You walk and talk and breathe and move your fingers like a human being with human tendencies. You make sure to wear your thickest coat to soften the blows until it doesn't feel like punching anymore. And that is all you need to do, for now at least. And you will emerge. You will emerge.

what's so easy in the evening in the morning's such a drag

is it weird now that i cry in the morning instead of at night? usually people cry at night because they feel lonely and alone but i've started crying in the morning when i see people getting up to do things and there is all sorts of organized chaos and i just want to sleep a little longer.

have you seen my plant recently? remember when it was this big

now it's this big

and you can see i have new things on my window sill. i have a fake watering can and some seashells. they were gifts and i think they make everything look prettier.

i don't miss anything, 'cause i never had it so good in my life. but i still cry in the morning, and sometimes at night 'cause my room is big and my things own me.

the mask i polish in the evening by the morning looks like shit.

The Butter Melts Out of Habit, You Know, the Toast Isn't Even Warm

Habits are really strange. You might not even realize you have certain habits because they're so insignificant, like the direction in which you brush your teeth every night. And you can get away from those habits, something in your life can change, but it's so easy to revert back to the patterns you followed before. Sometimes habits are comforting; they're consistent, they're familiar, they're right where you left them. But then you realize that they're there and it's strange and you can't stop yourself.

I have a habit of brushing my teeth in a certain way every time. I rinse my mouth out in a pattern with a yellow cup -- first with hot water, then cold, then hot, then cold water to rinse out the sink. It keeps the water temperature even. I rotate in the same positions every night trying to fall asleep. My fingers have learned habits so I type my password immediately after my email address even when it's not necessary. I read the comics in the same order every morning while eating breakfast. I sit in the same seat in the same metro car at Cote-Vertu every time, every single time. Walk down the stairs, turn right, it's the second door in the car after the TV, the seat across from the metro map. When I ride with other people I make them sit there too.

Sometimes habits are disarming. When you realize what you're doing it's sudden, it's awakening. Sometimes your feet just walk and before you know it you're at the bus stop and you don't know how you got there. Then you furrow your brow and try to think about it, but it seems inconsequential, takes too much energy --

And we learn other people's habits too. We come to expect the way someone answers the phone, we feel comforted by the smells of shirts because someone washes them that way, we are balanced by another's routines, "making a temporary sense of the senseless, choreful day". When it changes we are alarmed, suspicious. We want things to go back to normal. Your life is unnerved when you build your habits around someone else's habits and then their habits change.

Returning to old habits feels weird -- why do I always sit in the same spot? Is it really necessary? But then I sit there anyway, just because. Just because it's easy, and I remember it. Perhaps my habit remembers me. It says hello, it welcomes me back, and though it may be uncomfortable at first because I don't want it! I don't want it anymore!, I eventually settle back into my routine and then I forget that I had ever tried to do something different.

It's hard to change a habit. There's just nothing else to do, it seems. It's lonely, a little, realizing you haven't changed at all. It hurts, thinking that you can't. You convince yourself you don't need to change anyway, after all, your morning routine is harmless. It's not killing anyone. So then everything is the same, all the time. All the goddamn time. The places you go, the bars you haunt, the streets you walk, the words you say, they're all the same, the places you go, the bars you haunt, the streets you walk, the words you say, they're all the fucking same.

So you resign yourself to a life of grayish suits, tired shoes, and a battered briefcase.