so, like, today my eyes are itchy and my wrists are limp. i’m dressed like a cute faggot–not biz cas at all, despite the fact that i’m at work. staying late basking in the air conditioning. i’ve been singing the saddest song to my empty house for dayz. it makes me feel sad and sweet all at once. i’ve made some important life decisions that maybe i will stick with. maybe not. i just want someone to swim in the polluted river with me & someone to spoon with even when it’s unbearably hot. butt curved against hipbone, feeling like puzzle pieces. it’s been so long.
i’ve been thinking about appreciation, about love, about letting people know. today i was reading the guestbook from my old diaryland page (2000-2004, rip) & was confronted with this gem:
i love your voice, when you tell your stories it’s your timber that fills them,and it’s beautiful, and hilarious, and yes, full. You are a story teller, you know. When i come home and hear you talking a smile always creeps up on the corner of my lips, because i know you’re wonderful, and that the day will be so much more worth while because i will be able to share moments of it with you. Know this Ocean Capewell, you are cherished.
from axi nue
6:39 am – Sunday,February 8, 2004
i had totally forgotten that she had ever signed my guestbook–there are a few entries, but this was the best. such a present. & it stings to look at the date & think she’d be dead in less than a year’s time, but back then she was so alive, so smart, so sparkling, so brilliant, and i never told her. i want to tell you, all of you. i am working on figuring out how.