some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues.

life is messy. you say too much you hold back too long you can't get the time right. no matter how sure you feel someone will always think you are wrong. and it's the ups and downs. and it's the dusty skies. and it's the fire smolder, the sticky hands, the work meetings that start with thai food and end with you talking about pigeons with chicken feet in kazakhstan. it's all very.

i wouldn't ask you to listen. i won't plead my case. i don't even know if i care to see you again.

so i will write my promises on a bathroom wall. pledge my love and hope the right eyes read it. or i'll guns 'n roses your ass til i get it right.

because i have never felt so close. and i am ready to land from the fall.

oh kazakhstan you, you got what i need...

It was everything I needed that trip to be.

...

and she's taking taking taking taking taking off.

kazakhstan

tomorrow it's on. kazakhstan. free falling. really getting away.

i am mostly excited. i don't have any idea how it will be. i like the not knowing. i like having no expectations. there will be an alphabet i can't read, a language i can't understand, food i won't dare eat, and open arms, open space and new faces and all the things that i need.

i want to talk all night and sleep all day.

i want to fall in love with kittens and black eagles and with me.

i am going to fall in love with the moment. i am going to let it sweep me away.

because here. that girl at the housewarming party. that voice on the phone. that soon to be ex-in-law. that "friend" wearing her moral overcoat. they wear me out.

it.
wears.
me.
out.

metal tables.

of course i knew it was going to change me. i mean when you almost die it's all people talk about. not that i knew the rules. not that i could find one other person who was impaled 8 inches in the ass by a wine glass who could enlighten me as to what i had in store. but mygod it's all people talked about "these things change you". and hell change was hard to get around. i walked out my parents door on my own two feet wearing new black pants, a black ballet top, heals. i woke up 15 hours later on a metal table full of someone else's blood. i understood that things had changed and fast. what i didn't know was in how many ways.

i mean some of it was obvious. i had to come home from the hospital in an ambulance because i couldn't sit up. i was so weak i had to use crutches to get the twenty steps to the bathroom. and it took time. damn i wasn't dancing those days. i had a drain coming out of the top of my thigh. the constant feeling of warm thick blood on my legs. i had to lay flat on my back. and it hurt. ohmygod like grating on your very will to live pain. like i can't breath pain. like don't effin talk to me pain. and the drugs. so many drugs. i couldn't go up stairs. i couldn't bath myself. i could barely walk from the bedroom to the living room.

so this is how i drifted into the background of my very own life. this is how i stopped playing a center role. this is when i became a witness to a life i was too afraid to want to live. and so i passed a new england winter in a yellow room in the back of my parents house (i couldn't actually stay in my own room because it was on the second floor and we already discussed my problem with stairs). i read books that my friends named to me in lists, i wrote letters begging for a reprieve, someone else's moment to erase me, i listened to chopin on my discman and pretended i could fly out of my body and leave it all behind.

i did physical therapy exercises that involved things like lifting my leg while i laid in bed. when i was a little stronger i went to the mall in a wheelchair just to get out. went for long drives just for some light. stood as close to the ocean as i could just to smell someone else's air. and i threw up nearly everything i ate. i had nightmares. i hugged a heating pad. i opened care packages of lip glosses, poetry books, socks with grippy feet, pajamas, prayer dolls, flowers everywhere. i was astounded by the love around me but i didn't know what each day was for. the change was so complete i didn't believe in anything anymore.

people would say things. sweet, kind comforting things. things like "you are here for a reason". "you are so strong." "you look so much better than last week." and all i wanted to do was to throw something at them like a shoe. and all i wanted was something to scream too. and i wanted to know what the reason was for all of this. and what i wanted to know was why i had to be strong when they got to be weak and happy. and if you asked me then i would have told you that all i saw in front of me was nothing and all i had to lose was nothing and i got up each day and i did this breathing shit that i had to do because what else was i supposed to do.

these things change you.

eclipse

maybe you didn't know.

i spent a day in tenth grade staring directly at an eclipse of the sun because i wanted to see it more than i wanted to not go blind.

Confession

I feel like I have to start my conversations with "I have a confession". This shameful little secret. This nasty little game.

My friends are the easy part. The ones who see inside me say all the things. It's the others I worry about. The fauxs, the relics, the family. Oh god the family. Those ones who don't see me, who only see the things they think I should have been.

And it should be enough to say: I want to be happy.
I am figuring out how I can.
And I can't believe that I am the first one to change the game before the end. It can't be that this is all I am.

I don't feel brave, I don't feel wise, it's just this weight. Lifting. (The truth will set you free) or let them speak, let them stare, let them wonder how it came to be. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to be honest. And that is all I am trying to do. To live an honest life. To hold an honest love. To find a moment that I won't have to push through. I have nothing but this feeling inside. This voice. This pulse that I am finally listening to.

I spent a night in love with New York. The dancing, the filth, the friends. The safety of the faces that know everything about who I was and nothing of where I have been.

But who says there aren't second chances. Third. Eighth.

Who put the quota on how many times you can change your mind or what fuck up is okay and what fuck up is too big to live through. Who told you that doing the best thing for you is anything but The.Best.Thing.

At night I close my eyes and it's the same soft light that it's always been. And I know now how my love should have always been.

depeche mode, the smiths, and a wednesday is not hump day here.

i have left lives behind before. i have been a million people. i have hated a million days.

but i wish i didn't have to do this day.

it's just that i am used to his shoes in the closet. it's just that i am used to drinking the coffee he has left on the counter for me. it's just that i am not used to sleeping in a house alone anymore. it's just that thunder scares me.

it's just that.