for you to notice.

tony-- probably the only person i'll mention by name on here-- mused recently that i'm too eager. i think he's right. i'm a romance junkie, searching for anything approaching the xoxo sensibility of the modern love affair.

this perspective is rather problematic. i get caught up in memories of the past.

i saw a black mustang two days ago, and my heart caught in my throat.

there's the cyclical rejection of bb and the circumstantial 'i'm sorry's of ducky and even the continuous 'who-the-fuck-knows' of harry.

that last one is the most troubling to me. the romantic dynamic of our relationship is tempestuous, ravaging, heartbreaking, and ever-present. it always comes back to harry. last night, i saw him. he panned, "i've missed you so much," and scooted closer, hips touching hips, comfortable and common.

a testament to the enduring emotions?
the mix i crafted this summer, months of cultivation, sent without word to his home. i've since lost the track listing, but i can recreate it simply in my head, and not a single song from it is placed upon a mix for another.

it's love, yeah, and i'm in it.

i'm searching so hard for lovelovelovelove because i can't seem to form the words to make it clear to the one i actually feel for. my heart aches. heartache.

it's not ducky, persay, and it's not even bb, godforbid. it's harry, plain and simple. it always has been.

something tells me--
--it always will.

i'm insightful or brave or smooth or charming.
i swear it.

i can be whoever you want me to.

p.s. i love you.

I'm watching this film and still thinking of you. You're running through my mind constantly, though you told me outright you didn't want me.

I think I still want you.

it's too easy to say you ruined my life.
because, for one small second, you made it all a little better.






p.s. i love you.

missing you.

I want to sign my name ten thousand names with your surname.

And I want to dot every letter with a heart.

Especially the ones that don't need it.

I'm yours.

[bruised.]

the world won't turn until something breaks
who will make the first last mistake
you say good things come to those who
wait
well i can't wait

i'm reading this memoir chronicling one writer's romantic tribulations through a series of mixtapes.

i have a yearning to make a really fucking good mixtape.




this isn't home anymore.

from braco to blue to you:

i miss you already.
and you haven't even left yet.

i was never good at goodbye. no matter how temporary.

Small hands

it's interesting how quickly Ducky came flying right back into my life.

flapping, even.

d, when i tell you you're nearly perfect, i mean it.
and when i tell you that you're the greatest person i know, i mean it.

but you look at me sheepishly, sad smiles teasing your mouth, investigating your toes as you murmur,

if you really think that's true, you're in for severe disappointment.

foundations

speaking of disappointment:

to you, bb. i wanted more. in the theoretical idealism i cling to so painfully, we worked. in reality, we failed. you failed. i failed. somewhere along the line, the 'we' became miserable, separately, together, rooted in this ethos surrounding overthinking.

i wanted you.
i want you.

but i know better.

maybe there's a chance for us later. maybe there's a we in the future.

but you're right. for now.
thanks for doing what i simply didn't have the courage to do.

warm sentiments to you.
lonely sleeps to me.
my heart's all heavy again, and i'm sinking, but b and d and j are all pulling me up with all their might.

and it's working.
for real this time.

bb, i wish things could be.

to you, it all makes sense:
my fingertips are holding onto
the cracks in our foundation
and i know that i should let go, but i can't
and every time we fight, i know it's not right
every time that you're upset and i smile
i know i should forget, but i can't

thanks, aaroneous.
it hurts, but you did the big thing.

c