June

It wasn't quite summer, but it wasn't spring. It wasn't nighttime, but it wasn't morning. In the middle of a country, in the middle of a city, in the middle of a street, a cold wind blew. Two people shivered. Under the orange light of a street lamp, they were the only two people in the world, and the only thing to do was hold each other. So they did. They held each other against the wind, against the past, against everything that had come between them. They held one another so tight against all of these things it seemed impossible that they would ever let go. They were thinking thoughts that weren't really thoughts at all, but memories in the fleeting form of sounds, colors, smells, sighs, laughs; all the good things and bad things in the universe. This kind of embrace had happened before and it would happen again. Actually, it was happening somewhere else at that exact moment. But they didn't care. They couldn't care and they wouldn't care, because for them, there was no such thing as time or space, or light or dark, or here or there. The wind was blowing and it was cold and that was all they knew. They held each other to forget, but also to remember and commemorate, to make sure the order of things understood that there was such a thing as love.

"I feel fine, talking 'bout peace of mind....."

What a beautiful day! My sunburn hurts from having spent a drunken, drug-addled weekend half naked in fire Island sans sunscreeen. In addition, making matters worse I have humongous scratches on my calves from fighting my way through a patch of nettles in the Pines, and a blue ugly bruise the size of metrocard on my knee from when my friend Mark tried to throw me over his shoulders on the dance floor but dropped me on my knees instead. I can't recall whether it hurt at the time, but it certainly does now.
Now, back in the city, I'm trying to find a job. Walking around Manhattan squinting in the sun and trying to pass out my resume to whomever feels kind enough to take it. I feel like a Free Mumia pamphleteer with whom everyone tries to avoid eye contact.
Who will hire me looking like this? I can't work at Hummus Place! I'd be too embarassed. I have too much pride for that, even if it isn't very much. But beggars cant be choosers, right?
Despite my joblessness and roughed-up appearance, it is a beautiful day.

Tell me, please...

What is it, exactly, that you see in me? Because I don't think I see it in myself. And it would be really helpful, right now, if you could just tell me. I'm sinking and I need to know. What is it about me that makes your blue eyes light up like that? Why did you look at me across the room that cold night, over the heads of all the others? What sets me apart? I'm not always like this, I promise. I usually take care of myself. Usually, I kick and thrash and fight to float, and no one can get near. But tonight, my head is underwater. I need to feel your arms strong and your voice soft. Tonight, I need your help.

As I stumble into adulthood...

...things become clearer every day. Not in a steadily advancing, forward-charging way, but in an ever-evolving, one step forward three steps back, progressive/regressive kind of way. Moments of clarity are sprinkled in like powdered sugar - lightly, delicately. They aren't frequent, but they've been happening more and more, and they feel good. They feel like the way things should be, like the first day you realize you can breathe through your nose again after a bad cold. They usually happen during a moment of rapture, while listening to a desperately beautiful song or rounding a corner in this cement-addled city and coming upon a patch of sky.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.