The sweet swirling of the saffron sky keeps holding me in cinnamon releases and gentle pink and purples…You keep me spinning in this solemn dance between the sapphire squares of my reassurance and the dancing fire of this divine illusion. The sunsets keep me plastered in this momentary acknowledgment…that we are spinning…that nothing is real…and that I am fading fast into the splendor of my own illumating colors. I am steadfast in nothingness and the more I reach for the sky the more profoundly rooted in the earth I find myself. I find myself just rehashing the same poetic nonsense that gets me nowhere but gives my life such brief and dripping richness.

And in this final stroke of beauty the clouds ache with crimson fire and blissful abandon. The colors themselves are God right there in the palm of my presence. My eyes that keep opening and my wheels that never touch anything solid. I know of no greater painter than the magician who casts this light upwards into my lullaby eyes. I am really in deep now. My senses are churning. Over and over they squeal towards a greater awakening and it feels like it isn’t even mine to have or give. It’s just constantly there.

Will we all be angry at ourselves when we finally wake up and see how much we’ve been missing?

Can you all really not see the MIRACLE of a sunset?


I talked to Kyle and you were there. Our life seemed to conjure itself up between the spaces in our eyes and I was looking at him and looking at myself and feeling this rush of wild secret memories. A me I can hardly remember. Don’t want to remember? I’m not sure why. But I remembered for a moment that we really loved each other. We were two kids in love.

There’s something fascinating and beautiful in being able to see our love splashed across facebook in colors and places and moments…in the way you look at me and the way you hold my hand…I can remember things viscerally in this tender way…it literally comes through the pictures at me and touches the corners of my heart that desperatly miss being loved. I miss our love. In the height of it…when it was real and palpable and snuck under every sheet and tucked me into bed and woke me up in the morning to sweet golden light streaming through the castle windows. I remember the molding and the wood and the things we never got quite right. I miss the way you made the bed and the moments when I felt welcome in it. We really had a life together. It wasn’t sustainable and it wasn’t perfect…but it was so beautiful in its briefly glowing embers. If I try…I can open the swollen parts of my heart back up to the best of you and me and then in some way love myself again.

I’m never going to love anyone the way I loved you. And that’s ok. I will love them in different ways. The parts of my heart that I gave to you are yours forever.

I wish you could have loved me right. I wish anyone could love me the way I love them. I really thought Adam could…but I’m back to believing in myself and my own big heart. Someone, someday is going to be able to hold my heart.


And I remembered what Adam told me once…and I really do need to tell someone what I’m experiencing. At the very least to get some reassurance that I’m not toally losing my head.

And yes I see you. I see you walking past me in this funny familiar way. I feel you seeing me and I can feel your muscles tighten, and your pulse thin and your skin groping at itself. Your presence turns to mud and your gaze turns ashy and unreachable. Are you afraid of me? Of what I might represent to you? These walls are artificial and they send me into sacrificial nonsense. Your residue and you don’t match. So was I the one blind or have you just dissolved before my very eyes? Will you still be missing in the morning?


I am raping and pillaging my own mind to find the sinewy desires of my every synapse.

The right combination of words can change your life.


I believe in the power of pictures. I remember your laugh Kristey…when I see your smiling face looking up at me from the screen. And I remember what it felt like to stand on that stage. So much of it is lost…fuzzy and curled over…but it allows me to see so much more of myself when I look at these pictures. They are like stolen secrets that we’re not supposed to be able to have. Precious. I am conjuring great and powerful memories to see myself clearly with. I am washing myself clean with my own bloody fervor.


My heart is always open to you.


And this is love: two souls that freely meet, and have no need of proving anything. 
– Paula Reingold 

“Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead. 
Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. 
Just walk beside me and be my friend.”
 – Albert Camus 


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