THE COSMIC DUST OF WHAT NEVER WAS

I’m A Big Fan of Your Work

Here comes the rain again. 

There comes a time when you have nothing left to do but pray to god. Praying, a concept which is so foreign to me, that I almost addressed my worries as “Attn: Morgan Freeman.” I think I’m color blind. or something similar in heart conditions. I’d like to say it’s not like me to be so down&out&underground, but hey let’s face it. I’m a thrower. I throw myself into something, anything. So why can’t I throw myself here? I’m missing passion and spark and heat and faith and who am I to forget my pulse, my appetite? Where the fuck is any color? I keep thinking, 2 years and then my life can begin. But wait, do I not love you like they love you? Everything should start right now. Everything should always be right now.

Will you love me when I’m settled? If I don’t feel like getting out of bed that day? What if I’m losing my sparkle again for a little while? I’m allowed to do that. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING. I’m tired of asking. 

So I’m sitting on my floor, praying to someone who’s name I don’t even know, on the first sunny day in a while, wondering how to escape the place you escaped to. 

California in May.

I thought, for a moment, that I was standing on a mountain top holding my own hand. When i candy-caned over the edge, there was a flooding of cities and skies and bombs and watercolors. I didn’t have you. I didn’t have anyone. And I was going up.

People make mistakes, though. Sometimes not on purpose. Was climbing down the mountain one of them? Was falling down it? Because now I’m in this turmoil of current and it’s extravagant and it’s illuminated but I can’t find myself to hold when the only thing holding me is 1672 miles away. (Did you know that the world is bigbigbig?)

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I want a new language and a new life. I want to join a punk rock garbage band that only plays on weekends. During the day I want to wake up in a room of brick and red curtains and see your skin always pink. I want my gun on the nightstand and your tongue inside me and calluses on the bottom of my feet because we’re sleepwalking together. Always together.  When I dress in white, I want it to feel new. We can go sailing in the winter in our old sweaters and talk about the way trees don’t make sense because how do you hold on when you’ve let go? Nothing is pretty but the sunlight and the way my hair smells like last night’s sweat. I want a honeymoondrughangover with maraschino cherries and limes, teeth marks, and bathroom counters. 

Doesn’t everyone have those wants? Aren’t you here for me? Can’t you promise that in 5 years we’ll end up sunburned in Thailand in the middle of a color parade, setting our backpacks on the side of the street, not caring if they were still there when we returned. We didn’t need anything. And you can’t dance with a backpack.

Come Again

The moment where the firework is off the ground but hasn’t skyexploded yet is no longer. The firework exploded, but in some Marquez-like dream, it was nothing but a boomerang and it’s coming back around. Firework after firework after shotgun shell. Let me make this more clear:

I left for BMT Nov. 29 and while I was there, it felt like I had never done anything before that and I would never do anything after that. Moments blockade themselves in the squadron gates and you’re suddenly somehow able to wrap your mind around the fact that “this is life.” Basic was hard and long (that’s what she said) and turned me into a soulless, emotionless, sailormouthed alcoholic with an ability to pack a mean backpack. Mostly, none of that is new. But it feels new. And that’s new.

So I got out of Basic, I got out of my relationship, and I moved about 2 miles over a bridge to the other side of base. I met the most incredible people and I had this perfect moment during the national anthem in the sun-setting rain, and it felt like Basic was at least a lifetime ago.

Now, here I am, a month and a half later, sitting at an airport waiting on my plane to Monterey, where I’ll spend the bulk of my contract. I’ll leave there trilingual, having seen a real life whale, and with a folder full of a-photo-a-day’s from the man I love. Life happens weird sometimes. The stuff you used to think sounded so movie-like, like bodyguards and high tech planes and camel spiders, they all seem so everyday. And I have to say that my everyday is pretty damn exciting. I can only wonder what the time away will be like. We say things like planning out our crosstrek to Thailand and how good you look in green, and I wonder if it’ll be the same as it is now. If it’ll just make sense in the moment, like there was nothing else we were supposed to do, supposed to be.

I’ll continue later. It’s time.