that's the way.

Lately, I've come to recognize just how much anger is housed within me. I catch myself after an unecessary harsh stare or a biting retort. Only when I pause does the hostility reveals itself. I don't understand it. And it's got me shaking to hold back tears. I hate being an asshole. What reasons do I have to feel this way, really? Why? Preparing myself to make all these changes forced me to reevaluate my shit. Living for some unknown future. I dunno. So much going on feels uncertain. I suppose in so many ways, that's how it is. Shit changes. But, I just feel torn up inside.

your unknown.

Pulled into you and everything is buzzing.

A dark room and a pint of beer. How could I have done it differently?

Sometimes we get so caught up in being tragic.

The sun sets and the ice continues. A crackling sound as it hits the ground, shuffling homeward slightly under the influence. Earlier, the snow flakes flitting, floating upward, cold kisses on bare cheeks.

Bring me wild eyes, my dear.

Place your arm around my shoulder and I will curl into you. As we slow down, our heartbeats race.

What you cannot say aloud...

i'm not dumb, just wanna hold your hand.

Hot breath into the cold air. Coming out from underneath the headphones, a shimmering echo and a near swagger to say hello. An interlude for you.

Lacquered crimson nails and fingerless charcoal gloves. A skater with salt and pepper hair and faint lines slowly softening the face waits, board at foot. I want to take a face like that in my hands and feel yesterday. The face we have when we're not yet old and yet too old. In your arms, I am safe. This I know. Let me grip the crook of your arm as we walk under the streetlight. Pause to run fingers along a slightly stubbled cheek that later will be pressed against my own. Glowing in a damp heat that radiates only at touch.

Gripping a paper cup on coffee.

I catch myself with you when I'm alone.

A heart drawn onto the palm of my hand.

A flash of bare stomach.

When does doing the right thing turn into a compromise?

truthin' so hard.

What an absolutely, utterly unproductive weekend. Huddled under blankets, peeking out the window at the blinding white in sunlight. Perhaps I am too quiet.

I found myself on the edge of wallowing earlier. Though admitting this to friend forever seemed to curb it for the time being. (Oh man, do I miss you.) I never felt like I had to struggle to make friends. Growing up I worked a laissez-faire approach to shit, a charmingly obnoxious ability to be loud, and an adeptness for quick insults, bad puns, dirty jokes and general hilarity. High self-regard as well, obviously. Though, to be honest, most of the vanity at this point derives from the fact that I actually like myself. When I moved here, I found myself on an endless cycle of bad friend dates, and I suppose I never fully recovered. It's no lie to admit that once I'm tight with someone, I'm fiercely loyal, full of love and admiration. Heart on my sleeve and all that...no need for drunken confessions. So it stings when I feel rejected. And I just feel so goddamned lonely a lot.

It's fairly atrocious at points being the grey cloud.

You are etched into me. Chills that cannot quit. And the confusion is killing me.

One night, we're all dancing. Forever and ever and ever.

chapped lips.

Will you ever tire of me saying I miss you? Will it ever lose its honesty, its intricacy, its bittersweet pull?

Tonight is a night of many sighs for many reasons...exhaustion, uncertainty, longing...all those muddled emotions to blot out for a quiet, cold night in a dimly lit room. Golden hues and soft shadows. I remember my hands upon your back. A heavy weariness lingering within my muscles while I allow my head to hang softly. Find me with disheveled hair and a loose slub cotton dress over black tights. Do you miss me, too?

a yellow moon. an orange moon.

I am on street lit dirty snow following my shadow. Muffled wind blows past a hooded head.

I don't know how to get older. Maybe most people don't. The day passes by so uneventfully in an office, and I debate whether or not to check myself (before I wreck myself.) I still don't fully understand why we run this way. Why so many people choose to live in such monotonous routines. Right now, my reasoning lays in the dollars. Obviously.

A well-respected man.

Every now and then, I catch this city as an outsider. With pale grey skies, the sharp edges of multi-storied buildings and arching curves of vivid graffiti pop into focus.

I can't seem to put it all into words. While I sort through how I feel, so much seems to be taboo. Insofar as the more complicated stuff isn't discussed in any real terms. Maybe a country song or two. I just, well, want someone to relate. The things that come to mind sincerely suggest an absurd level of analysis. Like, how did the human brain evolve to the point that we create such complications? I suppose I'll perpetuate the silence through my own vagueness.

A feeling real and potent, but I cannot call it a heaviness. It is true though.

fragile.

I want your arms to go all the way around my waist as you breathe into the curve of my neck.

One night, we sang our best Nico impressions to each other. Giggling and eating warm cookies. A winter morning breeze blows the small snowflakes into my hair, face angled down towards the icy sidewalk and I am drifting to your music.

My cheek rests upon your chest beneath a soft white shirt and with every intake of air, your scent (one of clean laundry and sweat) rushes through me.

We held hands for a minute, fear dissipating in liquored clarity, because you seemed to know exactly what I meant. The stars overhead covered with gray, glowing clouds made certain we stayed upon the ground to feel every second of the last day.

I spent the afternoon In red buffalo plaid and eating brisket. Maybe I live in my head up here. Life feels like a game on constant turn ons. Hiding under the covers, safe in the dark, I can't let you find me. I fail at thinking reasonably. Of course, I am trying to.

I am naked aside from the two bracelets that clink together around my small wrist.

ringer tees.

A broken record keeps repeating, "This is your choice." I remember moving here years ago (is it strange to say that? It's true and yet...), and coming to the discovery that, more often than not, it was my own decisions that allowed any suffering I endured. In a more vulgar way you end up asking yourself how much shit you're willing to put up with. I still manage to get bummered too much, but I realize I'm better at checking myself. Which is to say...I've progressed?

I don't want to be your grey cloud baby.

I pulled out a photo of you on the way back from work while slightly spacing out to Beach House, etc. Can I say your face is my face? I mean, well, it's a good face to think about. And your cheeks warm my hands when I rest them upon your face in quiet adoration.

Would you like me with hooker lips and shaggy hair?

hear you me.

I can feel the ribs underneath my skin which has grown more taut in the past few weeks. Maybe the reason I don't remember eating anything specific is because I forgot to eat. Full on other things, I suppose...stress and a pulsing bliss.

My hair is pulled up and back. My eyes itch with earlier tears and smeared mascara. Sometimes it's hard to say goodbye. It was you that reminded me clichés are cliché for a reason. And emotional displays tend to be my forte once I've been convinced I can trust you.

A breathless blush.

The transition back to life (back to reality).

I hate that you seem far away. Let me mash my cheek into yours, and become small in your arms again. Could you love me for a long while?

hear me play my violin again.

We are honorable people. Though perhaps to a fault at times.

When the air first felt crisp, a stranger asked me if it was possible to love two people at once. I said no, but really I don't know.

I reveal all, but nothing as we drive together. A collection of hilarz anecdotes released into the universe to cement our friendship even more. Yes, I kind of like being choked, but you call somebody Daddy. So, we're even.

Good bye, small place of golden grasses and open skies. But what do I return to? The cold, vibrant darkness of a living city. I wonder if I turn myself off. I please, but I compromise.

Pull my hood up and move on.

My sweater holds the scent of campfire. You found me drunk and holding tight, fluctuating between giddiness and solitude. At these moments, I flash hints at a sadness that lingers ever on. The hidden side revealed. And the sloppiness lets it slide.

I am lonely, and I want to get laid. Internally, I debate how long to hold out prior to instigating an exploration that will ultimately lead to an undesirable conversation. I guess I'm incapable of not speaking up.

The loss of you.

Place your hands upon my waist and I am yours completely in that instant. My head buried in your chest and your fingers in my hair. I close my eyes and nothing else.

You are umm, invigorating. And so much is on the table. Our unspoken truths.

Shout sing the words on the radio to supplement the broken seal.

Caffeine jitters make me wild in the eyes. I am shaking, but the uncertain sloshing in my gut pulls me down. Be honest. Doped in memories and always reaching, always touching with a hand that has held yours. Skinny legs and strong arms. The ground is thousands of feet below my own.

I want to give you all.

The time ticks towards dawn. A new day and this is where we are.

i should have known better with a girl like you.

Wow.

Curled up with heavy lids and some good smiles.

Hung out at Liberty Bar with friend forever at a large table meant for more than two. Nirvana and spectators distracted us from each other, yet we found ourselves again through candor. Sometimes I forget how much relief I feel in the reveal. Rarely do I let my guard down in recent years. And with you I want to spill it all. The precarious balance of clutching close and letting go.

A quiet dinner with food and promises with the surrogate parents in mood lighting. I hope all is well, yours truly.

The weighted sighs in abundance.

Breathe in deeply and you're still there.

you don't say.

I need a partner in lamenting.

I suppose I do well...that my life is pretty awesome, all things considered. When I remind myself to step back, I am aware of the good shit and the not-so-good shit. I'm still talented, relatively young, and mostly loved. If anything, my time away from Austin forced me to reckon with my negative side. Maybe like a "to hell and back" experience. In all honesty, the phrase "escape from New York" pops up often in my psyche. Per the drunken resolution of my NYE, I'm gonna get the fuck out of New York this year. The whole No Fucking Around/Shake Shit Up philosophy requires a sailor's mouth. Fuck denying happiness. Fuck the bullshit. Fuck NYC.

Growing up away from what I knew became a catalyst to get what I wanted. And while I still struggle to make my life what I need it to be, I am doing it. For all the complaints, the severe depression, frustration and weeping, I can finally make the oh so cliche statement I AM STRONGER NOW. But I sure as hell miss my friends.

It has only gotten harder to see Austin change, to recognize that even while I dealt with the tough shit in my new life, other people had their own lives to tend to. As time passes, my anxiety heightens when I realize that even though I pine often and severely for some of these people, I'm still in the distance. I am far away. I've wished I wasn't more times than I admit. But, as friend forever said tonight, I can't regret the choices I made. And it's true. That shit is over and done with. Life is short, obvi. We all know it, because it's true as well. I just hope I made the right decisions. Or more aptly, I hope to respect that decision.

happy new year.

We sit huddled around the campfire, lulled by the sound of the ocean and whisky from the bottle. Clutching at her waist for hours, I loll slightly and shout loudly. The more I touch, the less distance between us. Sometimes my mind wanders here, and I question the choices I made that took me away from what I knew. At times it's overwhelming, like last night in a haze, and I duck out to stumble through the sand to plea my case to the universe. I don't mind whether it is some grand being that holds influence over my existence or if the energy releases into the elements to form a sort of driving force.

I want to hold hands. And I am thankful for your loveliness.