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Oh rock and roll can’t answer me and you. I suppose we both get tired with the circumstances we find ourselves in and we think briefly of each other. We stand in a friend’s backyard and look across the yard at the person that we have it all figured out with and we question ourselves. There’s no way that he loves Clary like I do. There’s just no way. She had become my niece present in this town. I have lost her too. You get her and he does too. Tell her about me one day, please.
We will live our lives now so separate. You will convince yourself of happiness because you do not truly know what it is. I will learn to imagine a happiness that does not include you.
I will turn this space off in the coming weeks as I need to let you go from my life. There will be no letters for your teenage daughter to read. There will be nothing of me in your life but your memories. Yours!
And those will fade too.
I think we could have had something true. Maybe we did, but you and I both decided to crap on it. At least I feel that I kept you a little longer than most did after the fantasy ran its course.
It’s too bad you don’t like baseball. It’s too bad you could not be more consistent and stable and loving and not plunging toward every helpless diving lure that was thrown your way.
I fucked up so much, but it was not just me baby.
Fix yourself for me or him, but mostly, for you please. Be happy, be happy, be happy. Figure that out and you have the secret of life.
Happy Easter.

You and him in the 4-Runner by my house while I read on the porch and awaited Braves home opener. Austin doesn’t have baseball, not even minor league, but I need to leave this neighborhood, this city. It can no longer hold me and you, and now, him too. Not running away, just starting over.

God! How prescient that I wrote this on the ides of March. I do not believe in mystical foresight but this is the one I told you about and did not post. Know that I am okay, if you even read this anymore. I am full of anger, but okay, and in fact feel as if a very heavy burden has finally been lifted from my chest.
I have thought about these things too long and I need to relieve myself. I have never wanted anything like I want you, before or after the diet. I know that I make you feel good about you, but maybe that is only good enough to push you to the next level. You will meet your husband in Sewanee this summer. I hope you do since I do not meet the requirements.
It is becoming harder and harder to not want to touch you in ways that you would balk at now, that you once would have not balked at, but rather loved.
I can no longer touch your skin like I do. I can no longer want in this way. I have to be Zen. I have to have no desires. That is only responsible where I stand. You will be loved and I will too, but it will not be by each other. I understand these things now. I hope you do too.
I will forever love you. And that will kill me until I decide not to let it any more.
I am good enough, but far too much the failure. Right? Right? And too anxious too.
B

I love you and wish that your heart could beat 10 to 12 inches from my chest in slumber tonight. For real.

I have been hugging a pillow for going on two years now. Since you left and moved a half mile away, you have not come back. I stayed there a few times when we were pretending, and then once in the last half year. I guess life becomes delivered to us now in the the half years.
Our legs crossed and slumbering, without a doubt, bring me comfort. I don’t feel that you have found better than me. I know that Wyoming did not work out. I know that you felt me through all of that. I know you have your doubts, but we we always will.
I spend the time that I think about these things thinking about watching movies with you, and kissing you, and, ideally, making you feel the way in which you should feel. I will not be a fool though.
I wish for your legs tonight to rub against mine. I wish that on any given night when the pillow is employed. I want more than that, though not much more. Give me tonight, stay with me. Give me a dream, as you do all of them. I will give them back. Put your feet in my hands for the rest of your life. Cry with me. Laugh with me. Sing with me.
As a hollow echo of what has been echoed before, you are all I have ever wanted. Just kiss me when you see me to let me know it is real. I can pretend for a while, but I need your love. Crossbone style. Our legs layed upon each other. Our hearts stating the obvious. Crickets make music in these instances.
I may stop writing here after this, as I have written this enough, and my words turn stale.

32 years old and i know what to say. I wish for your body, mind and all in the morning, to be here right now. I can’t even remember what our mouths felt like when they were put together. I guess I give up something every day. I loved kissing you goodnight. I should’ve gotten in bed with you earlier. It’s carnal, but I miss your body rubbing against me as I went through my episodes. I will miss it when there are no episodes as well.

If this were my movie your text message tonight would have been followed by the scene in which you were standing out front a la Lloyd Dobler with the boom box playing “Down in the Willow Garden” this time rather than “In Your Eyes” and perhaps you would be naked under the trench coat (Jeremy’s addition, he’s married, let him live a little), and maybe you were coming over to seduce me. Maybe you wanted to dance on the double yellow line in the middle of the street right by the public niusance/ pedestrian protection crosswalk signs. We would watch as a black dog pranced down the street, as Mrs. O’Leary walks her angus. A light rain would fall and cover us, your hair all languid curls. My bald spot showing. Or maybe it was pickup packed with your stuff and you had decided that a life away from me was far less preferable than a life with me, and that furthermore, we could save more for our trip to the South Pacific by living together.
I didn’t tell you about the trip to the South Pacific? The tickets are bought. You just have to show up. It will be right before you start graduate school, and around the time that I get all the pieces put back together.

I been out walking after midnight different this year than a year ago when I thought that you had been awakened by bad dreams and missing me. Oh, it is your birthday and I am prone to exaltations of and sporadic onamonopeia. I have spent a year searching for your heart. Thinking it is somewhere out there. There’s a song in it. When all along it is in your chest. I like being near your chest. I like sending you secret messages. I like the thought that with you I could have the life I always have imagined. I like that you are broken but growing, repairing. I think you will be great. You are great. The greatest predictor of the future is the past. Your ability to still see me this year, to still believe in me, and you, in some strange way… that is my 29th piece of you. You are so much better, more sound, more perfect, more beautiful, more everything than you know, or should know. Maybe you will one day.

Why must I suffer this torture of being without you when I believe that you want to be with me, and I know that it is you that I have waited for? My life is lived in a state of tension waiting for you to return to me, my heart. I never believed you existed until I had you, and it is hard for me to realize now that you are gone.

I have to write tonight because to not do so would mean that someone would not understand… or too many. I have spent the night inthe middle of a 3 mile walk in which the certaintude of things became apparent.
Did you know that I love Frank O’Hara’s ” The Day Lady Died.” Some fools apparently thing it is about a dog.
I can tell you that no dog can sing like that. I mean, there is dog who can even sing like that, at least I hope. I can hear her call of the strange fruit.
Poetry is like breathing to me now, and finally. If you do not understand that, please get out of my way, Let me breathe. Let me be. Find a way to resuscitate your belief so you can go on fooling the rest of us into loving you for a little longer.