Spring-Spring!! Spring-a-ling! Springing!!!!

I don’t have anyone to romanticize so I’ll romanticize my last week of the semester and first week of summer.

Asteroid City (2023)

Journal/Diary entries lately…

Also, i couldn’t post this one because it was too personal but i said something that i want to share:

“Can you imagine how scary it is to be thirteen, in a prepubescent body, maturing the wrong way, having the biggest boobs in class? All i ever wanted was a beard anyways. And no tits… i still have the biggest boobs in most places i go unfortunately.”

clucky went to da movies

You were in my dream last night.

I hadn’t realized that you left my mind. I felt better, but didn’t realize how your absence freed me.

But then you came back.

Just in a dream, my nightly vision. We were supposed to check in two days ago. I, of course, forgot, but you showed up in my dream to remind me, to guilt me for forgetting about you so quickly.

You forgot about me first.

I’ll continue to forget you, as you will me.

I’ll continue to grow happier.

I hope you will too.

People-Watcher

Strangers like movie-stars shimmer in my eyes. My own personal entertainment. I watch them dance around their room, laughing and playing together. I watch them walk peacefully in the dead of night, soaking in the moon. I watch them smoking their cigarettes, knowing they're desperate to quit.

Of course, I don't know the necessary context, this intention to quit, but I know my own brain is creative. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they smoke out of longing for connection. Maybe the one who rushes in the night just had the worst night of their life. Maybe the pair dancing and playing are actually fighting. Maybe they're secretly in love.

And there's me, on the outside of it all, watching it all happen, a moment out of context. Even someone as elusive as me is being watched too.

I used to live in your bed. I used to curl up next to you in the darkest coldest hours of the night. Your apartment didn't have heating. We'd share a blanket between us but you'd always steal it off of my naked body. The moon light would peak through the alley way, through your bedroom window and bounce off of my skin. I was cleansed by the fresh light of the moon as you snored beside me; asleep, beautifully. This cold room in Boston, with its cracks in the wall, nearby chime of the green line, and broken radiator that scorches the tip of you blanket while heating nothing, felt so warm with you and me together, even with skin as cold as porcelain, bathed in moonlight. When you woke up, it was snowing. My body, fully chilled and reflecting the snowfall, made you think I was sick. You wrapped me in your blanket and made me tea, chamomile with three sugar cubes and honey. You brought the warmth into this bone chilling bedroom of ours.

...

It's been two months since I've been in your apartment, your frigid bedroom. Two months since we slept skin to skin, fighting for a too-small blanket. I know that now your bedroom is the coldest it's ever been.

I know you.

Of course, within our minutes, hours, days, and weeks spent together, I’ve learned so much about you. I learned that you are repulsed by ranch dressing, and that you’re getting a new job soon because you hate the sushi place you work at. I learned that you broke your finger after a dodgeball tournament because you were sad you lost, and one time you peed your pants because you were so excited to see Hamlet. I learned that you are on a quest to find Mario Super Sluggers for the Wii, and that last semester you finally started charging money for your music.

I know these things about you, I’ve paid attention, and I keep track. You don’t have to do the same for me, and it’s unfair to expect you to.

I know that you started smoking when you were twelve after you got kicked out of your parent’s house. I know you got those cigarettes from the 7th grade girl who was being groomed by a twenty-something year old man. I know you wish you could quit, you’ve tried and failed, and that it is the worst mistake of your life. I know no matter how much you hate the idea of me being around cigarettes, you still find it sweet that I do, and always let me light it for you.

I don’t know what’s going on with you now. My brain can’t help but wander to conclusions, and come up with reasons why you feel you can’t talk to me anymore.

Was I not your type? Was I too much or too little? Are you alone? Are you with someone new? Are you with your ex again? Is this the anniversary of your exes miscarriage? Is this when she started hitting you? Is this time of year hard for you? Did you lose someone close to you? Did you lose some weight? Have you been eating right? Have you been happy? When do you come back to Boston?

Can I see you again?

…

No response yet, but that’s okay.

I don’t expect you to know me like I know you, or love me like I love you, or care for me like I care for you. I won’t tell you I’m worried about you, just like you asked. I won’t let you know how much I think about you, and how badly I yearn for you. I won’t share that now I do five pushups every time I think of you, and that I’ve done 205 in the last three days.

I’m here for you if you want me to be. I promised you I would be. I’ll still make you blondies if you want me to. We can make them together if you’d like, I know cooking is your love language.