One Hundred and Thirty Six

Oh.

oh.








oh no..

One Hundred and Thirty Five

I had a dream about you the other night.

We were walking, crossing streets or up a hill, I couldn't quite place us in the city. But you held my hand, so lightly but I felt it everywhere, and all at once, I felt so centered, so secure, and yet like such a child, so vulnerable, susceptible to everything, especially your eyes, your eyes always bold, always curious, always burrowing and always warm, just as warm as I always remember them. And at some point, around the fifth squeeze, by the seventh shoulder graze, the ninth shared smile, the twentieth comfortable silence, I stopped you, so hesitant in your steps, and I kissed everything away.
Every fear and second guess, every reconsideration, every catch and fall and 'wait's and 'but's and you smiled. And I kissed you again, slower, and then let you breathe, and brushed my lips against yours, and you smiled again. Smiled the softest, the silliest of flustered grins, and we chuckled, a collective exhale or relief and ease. I remember you closed your eyes so quietly and bit your lower lip carefully and we fought against time. And you, you squeezed my hand again, so shyly, and I raised my other to cup your cheek, covered it gently and stroked your jawline, and I reassured you, and your worried eyes, I touched your nose with my own, and I promised you,
"Tomorrow starts with me."

One Hundred and Thirty Four

Not too many people write me letters. I don't blame them, writing can be tedious and complicated, and they never quite seem to capture exactly how you feel, whether that's because you yourself don't even know how to begin or just that sometimes some things are just so large. inside. but not many people try to write me letters. You wrote me one, and it was so thoughtful of you to do that. So kind, so hard for you I know. I thank you, so so much, and I'm so so sorry
I'm so sorry that I gave it back to you.
Not a day has gone by that I don't regret that. Regardless of how we left things, I should never have given it back. I'm so sorry. I wish I still had it.
Some part of you.
But I suppose that's what I was trying to avoid, wasn't it.

One Hundred and Thirty Three

I hope I'm on your list of regrets.
I'm not gonna lie.

I hope you think about me at night sometimes.
I hope you think about me
and regret every moment
and feel so small
so ashamed
so sorry.

I hope I'm on your list of things you've regretted.
I hope I'm all the way up there.

One Hundred and Thirty Two

I stay up late, one night, incapable of sleeping. I write and write and forget commas and periods and spacing. I write until my words make no more sense, and then I keep writing. Chasing the next word as if drawing them out of a hat, the first thought, the very first word that comes to mind, I write it down.
It is rough and undetermined and childish and ultimately a young and concerned final product but it's what I need, I think, perhaps, I might just need something of mine, something to have control over, something to direct, to shape, to push, to move, to make my way.
Things never really do go my way.

One Hundred and Thirty One

There was this one night
wide awake around 4:45am
You lay down beside me
when we both knew you shouldn't have

but you touched my bangs
and made me promise you I'd never leave.

That was so cruel of you,
to make me promise you something like that,
when you knew I couldn't do it.
and I don't think I'll forgive you for it.

but in your defense
You clearly saw I would.

One Hundred and Thirty

I had a dream about you last night.
We sat side by side at a meeting, so formal and forced, dealing with serious issues like global warming and shortage of chocolate.
And you held my hand. And it was frowned upon, said to be counter-productive, distracting, unprofessional. And you shook your head with this silly smile, and said, "I can't not, I'm sorry."
And I squeezed your hand firmly in place
and for a moment in a distant dream
we were very very happy.

One Hundred and Twenty Nine

Hey.
I forgave you.
Two nights ago, in the shower,
between soap and conditioner
I found some time to forgive you.

I would've done the same, I think.
Sat there, intimidated.
Feeling guilty but not understanding why.

I don't blame you. I'm sorry I did.
Not everyone can be a knight.
and it was wrong of me to expect you to be.

One Hundred and Twenty Eight

Sometimes I think
maybe it's all a distraction, at the end of the day.
Maybe all of it is just here cos I need it to be.
I think, sometimes, I put it all here,
I made myself who I am,
just to go back.
Just to have a second chance, just to do it right this time. Because this time, this time I know what to do. Or rather I know what not to do. And I'm not alone. I'm not as alone. I'm less alone.
I don't think that's too crazy of an idea.
I think I think about it too much for there not to be a small scrap of truth to it.
I think I'm that kind of person. Someone who doesn't let go
completely.

One Hundred and Twenty Seven

I read today that Charlie Chaplin had like
a billion conquests

but when he was nineteen
he fell in love with a girl, proposed to her,
and she said no.
And he never really got over it.

When she died ten years later from the flu
it destroyed the rest of him.



I thought immediately of you.

One Hundred and Twenty Six

I've never liked anyone the way I like you.
And I don't mean that in a grand way.
I mean it in a different way.

I mean it like
you make me happy.
And not in a
"I want to cut out my heart and have you know everything about me. I want you to know each and every angry, jealous, hideous, dark, doubting thought that's ever passed through me and still love me, still want me as I am" kind of way.

But I mean I like you
and you make me happy.
And not in a naive way. Not in a way that I'm fooling myself, or making something to fend off loneliness. Not denying something. Or holding back. Or preserving.

Just that you make me happy.

Like maybe.. I don't have to be like that. I don't have to be so negative all the time. Maybe I don't actually have to be so stuck in the past, so mysterious, so secretive. Maybe I can just be happy today, and tomorrow, and learn from the past and move on.

And it - you - you make me wonder if life
and maybe the world in general
is actually a happy place.

Maybe life has been
a happy place
all along.


that's romantic in a different way isn't it.

One Hundred and Twenty Five

I have an immense amount of difficulty shaking the knawing certainty that my writing, my portfolio, my entire penning being is heading nowhere at a phenomenally fast pace.
What if I'm just not good enough.

or worse

What if I am
but this portfolio doesn't show it

One Hundred and Twenty Four

Sometimes
I feel like you're so close.

You just need to stretch a little bit more
just a little bit more. just stretch towards me.
Reach your hand
lay your head down
hold my gaze for a moment longer.

I feel like we're so close to being more
and everyone knows it.

Please try harder.
I don't have a right to ask you that.
But please? Please be brave. Please try us on.
see if we fit.

One Hundred and Twenty Three

I can listen to Cinematic Orchestra's 'To Build a Home' again.
I just listened to it today
for some reason.
And it doesn't remind me of anything.
It doesn't remind me of regret
of wasting time
of confusing feelings in parks
of emotional rooftops.
It doesn't remind me of any of that.

It reminds me of sushi
and my favourite places in Montreal.
Of winter. And christmas lights.

I can listen to it again.
I'm so. So happy.
So happy this song hasn't been ruined.

One Hundred and Twenty Two

I'm sorry it just...

It's just so much.
- in my stomach -
And I hate feeling so much.

And
it just...
it feels like it could've been the start of something.
I mean it feels like it's the beginning of a different year
doesn't it?
a year where things work out
a year where we'll be less alone.

It feels like we're still young, and we can still believe in romance
(in this wonderful, complex yet natural romance)
and we can be the lucky ones today.

It feels like
we could really do this
couldn't we?

come on couldn't we?
please?

And at the same time
it feels like an inevitable conclusion.
A sparkling red date in late May 2012
when none of it will last anyway.

I think I've just been trying to convince myself that
I don't even like you
all that much.

I hope it's working.
It probably isn't.