Sunday, October 3, 2010


The swirling cool wind brushed my friends' faces off, and they went to hide, ducking into buildings and their heated homes. I've got this new haircut, and people said they love it, but then they left. I'm in a spot between stoked to see your face and stoked to hide mine. Love is a list is a list, like here is what you do for me and how well you do it and how important each thing is, and they adjust and rise and fall, and boo-yeah, that's friendship and love and stuff. People see "boyfriend" and "mistress" and "best bud" and "that guy i know but can't stand to be around but still invite him places why." I see faces, beautiful faces, and arms and hands that wrap around me and voices that say "you're okay" and "OOOOO COMFORT." I feel a breath on the back of my neck and I can stay there for a while. Sometimes, I feel like people say "come over" or "I love you" so I won't go back to the hospital. I think I'm okay with that. I think I'm okay with looking at faces, touching faces, hearing voices and being cool. I think I'm okay with being committed to a handful of people. Mike Young said on his blog: here's an idea: how about let's stop fucking harassing people to death over who and how they want to love. AND I THINK THAT IS PERFECT. THANKS.

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