Poetry

I stitched the ache into fabric
and wore it like velvet.
The bottle sweats in my palm,
but the mirror says — let 'em have it.

Birds gather in circles,
where the lights are low,
and the poles keep spinning.

Cash falls like snow,
sticks like blood.
Your name tastes sweeter
when I don't say it aloud.
Compatibility — a myth we wrote
to excuse the wreckage.

Life is suffering,
but it dresses well.
Love missed its bus again —
no matter.
I only walk on Fridays,
never Tuesdays.

Tell me again:
what happens
when the rolling stone trips?

Eight hours of walking around the city,
laughing,
and getting to see your face
seemed so normal,
like it would become something
we would regularly do.

The 53rd floor of a gorgeous hotel
with an insane view of the skyline
and you.
Pizza and alcohol too.

God, there are so many more:
Central Park,
the Museum of Modern Art,
the Subway,
all the food spots,
the pond,
Port Jefferson.

These are memories
I never want to forget about
and I'm infinitely grateful
I shared them with you.

All I can wish for
is that you stay in my life
somehow and some way,
without it being forced,
because a love like this is special.

Cheers to us,
to twenty miles.

The question if this is extra
appears in my mind
and naturally I tell myself
that there is no such thing.

Extra seems to be the new normal anyways.

I can count on both hands
the amount of girls I have seen
with half-blonde half-black bangs,
to the point where it's no longer unique.

Extra has become less-extra
in the 21st century I guess?

What about the fact that
there are two older women
speaking french in front of me
as I craft this.

How is that extra you ask?

French is extra.

When there are smiles all around me
and people happily chatter near me,
I imagine you there
happily chattering with me.

When I'm alone,
shadow-boxing my frustrations,
my pride,
my sloth,
or my gluttony;

you're in my corner
throwing water in my face
and telling me to keep my chin tucked in
and to not give up.

I know…
I'm still going on,
this is why I edit this shit down
and just send you the polished thoughts.

But as scary as it is for me to say—
Life without you
is just not as fulfilling.

The flowers I got her for Valentine's Day
arrived at my house.
I let them sit on the counter.

The watch-ring I picked out for her—
something that was uniquely her—
also stayed with me.

I slipped it onto my finger.
It fit.

Time, a second-hand of love—
persistent, but no longer ours.

And yet, I know I'll still find myself
checking the time.
Hoping, against reason,
that the hours might somehow
bend back on themselves,

returning us to that rainy night
when possibilities stretched before us,
infinite and unmarked.

Witnessing your growth
over the past few years
has been special to me.

Each time we reconnected,
I saw your soul-searching
pay off just a little bit more.

You seemed more comfortable with yourself,
and maybe finally
you can see what I see in you.

The most important fact
is that you seemed happier.

I know you still have your moments;
that's fine,
they won't ever go away,
but in general,
you seem to enjoy it here on Earth
just a little more.

Remember to repeat to yourself periodically
that "this is water."

I once overheard in some bar
that "a good life is a life
with good problems,"

like deciding where your next
travel destination is
or picking an outfit for the day.

My wish is that your 'problems'
add significance to your life.

With each obstacle conquered,
you move closer
to where you want to be.

Let's hope that you have
the agency to choose them.

What truly stands out about you
is beyond the accolades,
beyond long hours,
beyond essays and notes.

It will be beyond high salaries
and sixty-hour weeks.

You have empathy.

You have the ability to make anyone—
no matter how truly fucked up they may be—
feel heard by you.

I don't know where you will end up
in the next few years,
but as one of the many who have felt heard,
I'll always be a lifelong fan,
no matter the circumstance.

Your love gives me the courage
to be authentically myself
and it gives me comfort
in the depths of this ocean we call life.

I tried to smile
while I was locked up in booking
because I remembered
that you told me to stop drinking and driving.

You have helped me stay afloat
when the inevitable occurs.

That's why I try to do the same for you
and if I can make you crack a smile
or laugh or anything
then there is no greater joy for me.

This is all a heavy and sentimental way
of saying "thank you" and "I love you".

Sincerely,
your somewhat odd & somewhat charming lover,
rouge boy.