i have finally started to spill, lover

it’s been a long time since i’ve written anything narrative, with direction and reminiscence. it’s been a long time since anything made enough sense to write in coherent sentences for.

the house is quiet here at night. when i wake up in the middle of the night there’s light everywhere. i feel like it never gets dark here. it’s either sunlight streetlights or moonlight, keeping sleep a stranger.

i run into all of these people who are growing into another part of my life, one i don’t see anymore. am i wrong for letting go so thoroughly?

i don’t miss you, i don’t think about you, and when i remember that i forgot you i feel guilty out of respect, not out of remorse. I know in my heart we all die, and mine has got you down like muscle memory, beat beat for daddy and tell him sweet stories about the child that grew up with eskimo kisses and super mario marathons, the little girl who never went without, me here being her then, saying steady and strong, just cause you were missing doesn’t mean you’re missed.

I just don’t want that to mean that i’m awful. I spend so much time trying to figure out if I’m awful or not. I do not trust this idea of myself that I’ve got, i don’t trust me with me because she, she probably don’t know shit about the real me. None of me really does. It’s a strange feeling to question your own ethics and motives constantly, but I never ever know if I’m acting or reacting for the benefit of another or for personal gain. Maybe that’s the natural human condition. There are so many things that we don’t share with people, things that usually end up being the queer things we all obsess over. How ironic, and maybe moronic too. Loneliness is especically painful to accept when you consider how easy it is to find community in all of our common insanities.

I am itching to run away to belize and do beautiful things and go to sleep at night after writing about all of them, staring at the patterns in the dirt with a silly little smile on my face thinking about all of the miraculous beauties that have walked through my life.

my best friend is living in germany right now, exploring to her heart’s content and gathering up treasures of intense memories like buttons for your sewing basket, little taspestries of detail to garnish any fabric of a lifetime. i think about her a lot, i think about the overwhelming humbling of experiencing a new country and a new life, and how much i love and miss that feeling, and how much i envy and am somehow also grateful that she have so much of it. i love the feeling because it’s like growth hormone for the soul. i learned so much when i ran away to jordan. that trip changed everything in my life, and it shook me to my very foundations, but i wouldn’t do it any different if given the chance. a few back road travels around cairo, even for two weeks, it changed me so much. and jessica is all over that, learning and absorbing, being a cultural sponge. that’s beautiful. I feel like i’m sitting in a waiting room though, warped with Hiro in the time/space continuum, like things really won’t start moving in my memory until she gets back. I don’t want to explicitly explain that because it’s kinda lame.

I have a lot more to say, just because I’ve started to notice that i talk a lot all the time, and I wanna start saying it all here and keeping my mouth shut when i’m out and about, with folks. i’m so tired of the sound of my own voice.
Who is this girl?

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