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Tuesday, April 29, 2014


"Hey Chris
You were our only friend.
I know this is belated:
We love you back."

I have no idea who we are anymore. You're a reality that only exists in my bedroom. I'm not crazy, but I might as well be.
I know it hurts to try. It hurts not to.
Guess I'm fucked either way.

Stay beautiful.
Stay miserable.
Stay celibate.
God loves you that way.

I can't ever find the words.
When I do, they're so terrible
I swallow them right back down
Where they churn in my stomach
And make me sicker.

Meanwhile your voice is disjointed static lost in some strange woman's murmurings on Sunday afternoons when my calender says Tuesday.

I don't mean to be this pathetic. It kind of just comes to me like air in my lungs. All I want is you, but you're not here and you never will be.
I can't be there because it almost killed me last time. I know it kills you too.
Wide empty spaces are all well and good until you need something to block the wind and guard against the chill.

You want a future. You want me. You want to do something you love for a living. You want kids.
Me too--but vastly more complicated.
Because with me it's always complicated.

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