It’s been pretty quiet here since you left. Not much has occurred. I washed the sheets you laid in. I cleaned the house of you. I made room where there was none.
I stared at the empty spaces you occupied and I filled them with pillows and art. I think you’d like it all. I think you’d approve.
It’s been pretty quiet here, and I keep getting these little pictures of you behind my eyes as I turn my keys in the door, as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, as I lay my head down.
Life’s full of these moments where we lose things we don’t want to lose, and you hope you’ll just get used to it all, and that you can fill the spaces up and that it will be enough. You hope it will matter less as time goes. It does. But I keep getting these little pictures of you… covered in dust. I think about your mouth cracked open and your voice singing. Your hands around my knees and then, you disappear again. As if the very thought of you couldn’t stay here. Why couldn’t you just stay with me? I’ve asked myself again and again. I come up with nothing. And I fill the spaces with things that aren’t you in hopes that the spaces inside me where you were fill up too.
Cannot express my love for this woman. Getting to work on a collab with her on some rad gear finally. Can’t wait for you all to see it… #whateverforever #dieinafiredude #goddamn @jadaandjon
I’m in touch with nature. @lenakedindian #dearfriend #deerfriend
I’m not sure what you gave me, but I’m sure it’s everything.
I was writhing in the kitchen like hot oil in a pan.
He said he loved to watch the color in my eyes change.
I drew faces on his napkins and I tried hold his hand.
But some things just hit too close to home to complete.
These little storms come across your face, he said.
Sure he didn’t know what to do with it all anyway.
I tried to tell him I could handle it, now let’s go to bed.
But it’s too late for promises that late in the day.
•It was late one night and he was singing at me. He said he was sorry and he didn’t know why• •So I put on red lips and I kicked off my shoes and danced around like a kid till his frown was a lie•
"Then we’ll take it slow."
I look out upon this open road.
It speaks a language I have always known.
Out here there’s nothing I don’t understand.
There’s you and me and stars inside our hands.
I fell asleep between your arms that night.
It was enough to keep me satisfied.
Now light that rings between your eyes calls me
No matter what those words you spoke could bring
It doesn’t matter what comes next you said
Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be instead.
You kissed my knees, and there between my thighs.
You lit me up and now I’m half alive. Cause all that’s left is road and memory.
And empty hands where stars used to be.
I wrote this song to get you back somehow.
To get your lips back tween my thighs and brow.
I had no hope that this would work, but still.
I croon and twist to open road until.
You might emerge between the trees and sky.
And call me baby till I’m back alive.
#mixedmessages part 2
Attempts at Foolishness
by Caroline Dupuy Heerwagen
I don’t know if I can help but think about what happened. I’ve tried not to, knowing there is absolutely nothing thinking about it will do. I don’t even know if fully understanding every angle of it would help anything, because none of the feeling lessens despite my attempts. Regardless, I sit here running through it all, every moment, and, if nothing else, have come to fully understand why we have named the heart the organ of fire, because mine feels like a hot coal sitting in my chest every time I think about you, and I’m always thinking about you.
I don’t really understand that part either, if you want to know the truth. It wasn’t always that way. But over months of having you in my life daily my blood had slowly become both less erratic with the idea of you and slightly warmer with the consistency of that. These were subtle shifts that I probably didn’t fully appreciate, but what’s left without you there, simply existing somewhere in my life, quietly smiling with encouragement, is a terrible feeling of regret for my inability to see the bigger picture. You said that. You were right about it.
Since then I’ve tried on every emotion there is towards you to see if anything other than that regret would stick, but they all slide off and reveal the same empty chasm where you used to be. All of this wouldn’t make sense, except that I don’t think anything like this ever really does, which means in reality it’s something solid as stone, and as old as stone too. It doesn’t mean I feel any less crazy for writing all of this down to say to you. It doesn’t mean that I even know what I mean to accomplish in doing so. There is likely nothing to gain at all but making an even bigger fool of myself than I already have. I’m trying to care less about that. Maybe I am one, and maybe that’s okay. The truth is I can’t say I’m any happier now than when I was young, and would let myself be a complete fool for the people who created even a small percentage of everything you’ve managed to. I’m certainly not any luckier, or less alone than I was then.
And so I think, as sparks fly from the coal in my chest, that had I been more willing to be a fool for you things might be different now. If I had been able to step over my hard earned pride to actually see you I would not be sitting here with my hands stretched out in front of me, checking for rain in a decidedly dry climate.
All of that being said, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter, I’m sure, but I am. I don’t really know if anyone can be anything to anyone else in this life… I’m still trying to figure that out, but you were something to me, and I don’t know if what happened was all my fault, but the part of it that was I wish to God I could take back, and the part of it that wasn’t, I should have forgiven faster and with less noise. I can’t do either, being still incapable of reversing actions taken in my past, but I can let myself be a fool. I can stick my hands out, and let my heart burn hot… if for no other reason than to prove to myself, and to you, that I’m not too old, or too hard to do that. That would break me worse than anything I think. I have no hope at all that this open handed foolishness will do anything, I have no hope at all that you will even read what I’ve written, or that, if you do for some reason, your reaction would be anything more than an eye roll, but I had to attempt at something other than just living with this furnace. I had to make an attempt towards anything at all in your direction because I’m afraid of what exists if I do not, which is absolutely nothing. And that absolutely nothing is burning me alive.
As I am suddenly faced with actual solutions to the forever loneliness that has hovered like a diseased cloud over my whole life, I see with exactitude the crack in the damn from which point all trouble has inevitably sprung. From fear my trouble seems born, a quiet limb with perfect aim that bends and tethers me. I close my eyes in the stillness to hear it’s movements. Press my ear upon the silence to make sense of its this and thatness, but get no clearer picture. I remain vigilant but to what ends I cannot be sure. It’s all shadows here. No sounds from the cracks. Nothing but a murmur of terror at notions I don’t fully comprehend.