I was looking for my sketchpad and accidentally found a book with some of Her poetry. I didn't mean to. It was hidden behind one of the boxes I put in a cupboard without unpacking -- which, of course, was filled to the brim with satin warm toned expired photography paper and notes about masculinity vs femininity. I thought it was an old 90's calendar based on the panoramic shape & large white plastic spiraled binding. I was going to flip through for some laughs, but there, on the left page was Her name boldly printed beneath a piece of poetry. My blood rushed. I could feel the tips of my fingers buzzing & slowly swelling into a red pulse with each. My heart beats in the rhythm of Her words. When she gets home, I will hold my hand on her cheek and thank her for existing.

She has a cold. And I get sad so easily. She comes home exhausted and with too many pressures that I wish so badly I had a pause button. She can't think, so we walk through the Seattle drizzle to get a large bowl of veggie Pho on Broadway, then to the store for Rum. We start to watch something funny, but She's too exhausted. She asks me if She can take the Tylenol Cold & Flu medicine we bought, but I say no since we had a couple drinks. And feel really bad. I hate not having control in situations like this. It's so hard not being able to make her better. She turned over to sleep. And I get sad because it's still early and I missed Her all day, but I know she needs it. I'm quiet a minute or two before I hear Her breaths slowly deepening. I kiss Her neck, then write this.

My head hard in the nape of Her. My joints are disintegrating to nothing but Her. Eventually I move my body and feel a slight slide of conscious breath. As if by instinct, before my body creaks like someone you've grown old with, birds have started chirping, I inhale and I pull Her closer into me. I squeeze for Her heartbeat, I listen for Her breathing. The purest pain. And I have no control. My arm right beneath her breasts. I listen. You try to kiss me. I smile, but Every morning, while it's still dark & no body is even fully awake, I turn my neck & almost cry because I'm scared now. I'm scared of what's happening to my body.

Never perceived this current transition to transpire. And “You’s” have turned into “We’s.” Which is foremost shocking bearing in mind the We’re okay. The We can breathe. My “I’s,” I’ll never be so foolish again. I want to press these keys to the point that they nearly shatter, or at least tremor severely. The last time I was writing in a frequent state everything was so solitary. I didn’t mind it. Though having Her now, it’s comforting in a way I never imagined it would or could be – especially considering all my desirings were muse-ish dreams states. It feels so damn good. She’s in front of me now. She’s here. She really, really is. She’s mine. How does She exist and how am I not just romanticizing this in my mind? I have hardly written anything in the past (very almost) two years of Her mystic presence. These have been the most enchanting years of ever in my existence & I wrote fucking nothing. How could I’ve been so senseless? My rapping on this keypad is nearly blaring in volume. I want Her to ask me, almost. Just so that I can kiss Her hand or forehead, which will be the perfect degree of lukewarm. It’s hitting me that this sound is not secretive anymore. I’ve been scared to write about Her. I’ve never been so careful the way I am with Her. So considered, yet so open. How strange it is to even acknowledge.

Reflecting. It troubles my psyche. I’m disappointed in it in the same way I’m disappointed in not keeping record. I got so rapt. Fuck, the rhythm my body got used to in one swift. I used to write, and then I was found. Why have I not even journals anymore? Not any art piece even stirred out of me. Everything except you was worthless. I, wanting nothing but you. Nothing. How’ve I not been cataloging? A dark fear is forgetting you. The you pureness. The perfect blankness you provide in yourself for me when I am desperate to escape from the madness. That’s why before I found you I wrote the way you did. I almost hated you. Masterpiece. I so desperately, almost hurriedly used to exist in a constant motion of scooping, but these past two years have been snowflakes. So delicate and beautiful and as if slow motion, then suddenly morphed to fast-forward. All of the sudden, accumulation. Abruptly, and disrupting. I got so rapt. I forgot to write. I forgot motion exploded sometimes. I’ve been reflecting on how scarcely I’ve been the same way. I get disappointed every time. All past emptyings, now I have to fill, fill, fill. Bloated because I wasn't supposed to ever find you, though I have indulged. I wanted my world of wishful. Yet, so aggressively they would melt. How’ve you not evaporated?

and the shards in history remember the age. there's mud on the ground and glass. she was run down. hid from the dreams she held. hard to keep inside. what is she looking for? see her body and you believe the blues. her photograph. now submerged in winter's totem of ice which constantly is melting into gray mirrors that you so avidly avoid looking at directly. "why?," you whisper. one eyebrow slightly contracts as you swallow and fold your arms against your body. it's been years. she's been gone. you're always empty.

i know i've already posted today, but i cannot get over the view that is just outside my door. i get to see this glorious landscape even when just walking home from the grocery store. texas, i just don't think i could ever miss you (except for your mexican food).  soul is so fulfilled and swept perpetually.

thoroughly freaked out. stephanie & i both had one gift that was not going to make it by xmas, even though we both ordered them near the beginning of december. since today marks the eve and we both knew we wouldn't have said gift yet we decided to open an image of what the gift was on our computers and then close them/trade for each other to open at the same time. and to put it modestly - both our faces dropped entirely at the precise same moment. as you will see in the image below:

for her, from me: a gray hoodie with the dr. who tardis printed on it in the center.
for me, from her: a gray hoodie with a moon umbrella printed on it in the center.

and to make it not any less eerie at all - we both have very similarly sized presents under the tree for tomorrow. this shall be interesting.

  

can't dream because my skull is tingling like your foot does when it's asleep. so instead i'm flipping through old photographs. mind looping. creating its own reveries by piecing together all the rectangular 4x6 relics in my hard-drive like broken bones which i quiveringly unearth as some archeologist of memory. i don't know if this is any easier than just fighting my eyelids.

i keep saying it, and i keep falling through. but i must start writing again. mostly to keep my memories close in this time of vast transition. this morning we saw the first snow of the season. it was so delicate and seemed to float in a gravity defying paradox. i just kept staring into it, waiting for it to swoop me up and swallow me whole. i was so rapt that my fingers froze through and i could hardly move my bones, but i managed just enough shaky strength to form my very first compact ball of the fluff in my life, then proceed to throw it at my darling. and we both laughed when it hit, but then i felt immediately awful because in my inexperience from existing most of my life in texas i was unaware of how painful a seemingly innocent snowball could be. but now i know and am anxiously awaiting the next snowfall. this time i will follow it's lead, be more gentle. make an angle or something.

"bonsai, bonsai, it's better to write than die." - patti.

her love is the blanket so beautifully molded beneath my skin that i cannot help but wake with its imprints upon my body.

fallen teeth floating in a glass of wine. tiny & glistening. a myth, but figuring it out.

because the past is seeping when the mortar fills itself, i remember. and that is elixirs of sorrow, euphoria, & a rattle to the bones' unease. but for once, never must be cracking - and that is when i'm loosing my secrets. and in a heart-wrenching visual spellbind of rewound footage, i play it over and over instead of counting sheep.

you, asleep next to me on a cheap motel bed. there is a constant humming coming from the bathroom light one of us forgot to turn off on the left of the room & on the right, the gaudy blue curtains are parted ever so slightly near the bottom, spilling a glow of morning light on your sweet sleep deprived forehead from falling finally to dreams at 4am because you were watching "chopped" all night on the outdated tv while the cat ran over our bellies and mewed for attention. these past few days have all been restless, but beyond enchanting. we made it. the air is cool in september here. the people are deeper. in texas we would've had to wait until february, and all the encountered existences would still be flat. i feel home. but all my sweaters are packed away in a pod awaiting to be shipped to our first true place together. i'm homeless, and jobless, but the most fortunate soul to have found you. and soon all will fall into place. but for now i still find harmony just how we are. everything is magic. goodmorning lovebird, xo.

i had once
(in a dream)
met a woman
who taught me
to never draw
lines, only shadows--
it made so
much sense. started
filling in. suddenly,
we erased. faded
into this great
gray dissolve which 
she now is
and i am
and we all
and this whole
vast impenetrable denseness
of what we
think we feel
are all only
something i had
once met--(now
but a shadow)

how unexpected and divine to each day witness my body an iridescent glowing orb. within me thrives a shrine constructed through vines of twisted veins & delicate pulsing that protect the long sought after answer no one ever finds. such a sacred embrace to know she is my truth. she has illuminated that sweet, sweet darkness. that relentless mystery everyone always feels yet never knows and i now hold when each day waking beside my angel.

surely sure. no such truth. touch the honey moon hanging low low tonight. sweep me up. sweep me slow. submerge the lungs until the vessels wither. faintly faint. sweet surrender.

you inside my arms. sync. baby blue hazy morning. still lazy eyelids struggling to see. but feel. feel you. beside me. my most cherished sensation. my most beloved sweetsoul. we're so close now. so serene. and i write this not in remembrance or a hurdle leaped, just simply. simply. you beside me.