absolutly fucking kill me, as my dear friend the brain would say,,

the ground is always hallow. i envy the mountains and the sun glazed rocks for your attention they receive, i only wish i could be there with you to smell the grasses. although i don’t think you’d care if i were there either way, and this thought embarrasses me. i am embarrassed by my love for you. i find the most beautiful pieces of yourself you give to me are the most difficult to swallow, but god i love the thought of them. i simply love everything you do because it’s you. hell knows the hours i anticipate spent sitting on your living room floor, in front of the fireplace, in your bedroom. i wish more than anything to know if you think about me.

we climbed a tree and ate our lunch amung the branches. you bought me a bagel and coffee, you ate a muffin and felt bad about it. you said the bagels around here are the best, i agreed. you took me to the record store where you bought your Buckingham and Knicks vinal, but it had closed forever. you were really sad about it. you took me to a street vender to buy grapes. you didn’t find any, but i took the last picture on my roll of film of you anyways amung the vegetables and fluorescent lights. i told you i love sending you pictures of the sky, you said if you send them to anyone else they wouldn’t get it. i met your mom for the first time. she said she felt like she already knew me. you don’t look much like her at all. you told me about a horrible fight you had with your sister while you were driving her in your car. it was so bad, you pulled over and ran. you had a terrible panic attack. you said you wanted to call me, i told you that you should have. we danced together in your empty living room to your favorite musician. i told you if you ever went to see her live, you have to take me. you said, well, who else would i take? you told me everyone has been annoying you recently. but not me. we dreamt about a summer together in france. trips to spain, bike rides, visits to your grandmother in marisol. i could write pages about you. i worry sometimes i’m doing it to myself. the first time i saw you in almost two months was in the park. i was sitting under a tree waiting for you to find me. i was so nervous my whole body was shaking. i saw you before you saw me. it felt so good to have my arms around you again, to hear your voice. you told me you were so nervous you were shaking too, you said it was probably because of how excited you were. i came to your restaurant where you work. i’ve heard all your stories about that place. i know working there over the summer was the only thing that kept you going sometimes. i know how much it means to you. i was really nervous to be there, you told me you were really nervous too. i remember when i first met you, you told me i was the only real friend you had. a few months ago, i told you i’m just one of several good friends you have. you told me yeah, but with us it’s different. you said you can’t ever really forgive anyone that makes me cry. i don’t know if anyone has ever loved me in quite the same way as you do. you told me we’re the same person. we laughed at the fact that when we journal, we both pretend to be writing to someone in the future. i hope you write about me. i want to cry. i know you will probably never love me. you’ll probably never be my girlfriend. i’ll probably never be able to hold your hand, or sleep next to you, or make you coffee in the morning. i’ll never be able to read you all the pages i’ve filled with pieces of your mind. i’ll never be able to wear your shirts, kiss your cheek, your nose, your freckles. i’ll never be able to tell you any of this. or, if i am, it’ll only be as your best friend. some day, i’ll have to be okay with that. i don’t think i ever will be. you told me maybe. so long ago. i asked if i ever had a chance with you, you said maybe. i thought, yes, maybe. maybe. something changed in your head, and later, you told me no. that was so long ago. you told me something last tuesday when we were in the city together after we walked around art museums for hours. you said that anytime something romantic is about to happen, you shut it down. you get scared. you said it takes you a long time to like someone, you said you always fall for your friends. i wish you wouldn’t have told me that. it gave me the slightest bit of hope to hold onto. i wish i could make it all go away.

i try to write about me. i use to be able to write about my days here and there, my life and what’s in it. i’d chatagorize my weeks and the conversations within. at a certain point, i don’t know when, i felt like i was writing for someone else. either someone who isn’t listening, or someone who knows i don’t know what the hell im talking about. but now, i can only write about other people. and by write, i don’t mean much. i mean phrases here and there, quotes to books and paragraphs i’ll never complete. but it’s alwyas about you. i don’t know why. i feel like you’re the most beautiful thing i have to think about. and i wish that wasn’t the truth. i love the clouds because i know you occasionally think of me when you see them. i listen to songs a little more carefully just because i know you’ve heard them before. i don’t know why. you’re so weird. but there’s something about you. you analyze the world just a little differently than everyone else, and a little closer in a way that i love so much. and yet, a part of me feels like i don’t even know you that well. or, well enough. don’t you always think there’s something unspoken between two people? if only the smallest feeling? that’s how it is with you. here’s something i know we’ll never talk about: the late afternoon after the park when we watched silence of the lambs. we were under your bed, because it was taller that the one in my room and it was perfectly dark. i sat closer to you, and when i moved you followed me. you had your head on my shoulder the entire movie. we almost held hands, almost. almost. here’s something else i know we’ll never talk about: early fall. i asked you to coffee. we sat outside on the street because the music was too loud inside. we were there until the sun set behind the buildings, because we lost track of time. we walked around the apartment complex 3 times because we had too much to say. when i see you, i don’t know what i’ll say. we’ll talk for a while, i’m sure. i’ll never be able to tell you this.