| I was thinking that if I told a story about my life, everyone would boo at the end. -CF | |
| i am a soldier for the tubeway army |
I can't help it. I think of you. 2007-04-26 | 10:27 p.m. I just called who was once widely considered the love of my life. He is a dirty disgusting punk who can congratulate himself on breaking my heart in several places several times, ever since the day he sat on Mikel's couch and pummeled me with questions, the whole time his eyes saying "I'm in love, love,(lust, awe), ever since the moment he requested a deal-sealing hug beneath the orange west oakland streetlight, while Melissa stood at my back silently applauding his impeccable timing. As she said later: "I thought that, it being ten years later, he would have changed." In fact, he had not changed. He left me. Then he returned to me. He lied to me until I became his accomplice. All the while, I only remembered the night we ran down the soft grass to stairs that led to the ocean, stopping off and on to kiss and laugh, and know that it was new, and different, and scary, and possibly all wrong. But who wants to believe their naggingest of fears? My heart is newly occupied by a love that is generative, nurturing and tempered for the elements. I am giddy with happiness. That's not to say that when I gaze down Arguello, I don't hear every streetlight whispering #@$&*%'s name to the orange fog hugging my neighborhood's avenues and making one evening of reminiscent longing eerily similar to all those to come. I will live here for four more days before departing the last thing he and I ever truly shared. The skies that were mine, then his, then mine again, will be nobody's come Sunday. But that's truly the way they were built to be.
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