a.

this perfect day felt earned.

d.

We are strolling, barefoot, when we pass a gaunt garden admid the parking lots. I, ahead of you, see her first: a small withering flower nestled safe within her leaf walls. A brief glace of her inward disposition and battered state rise my compassions; instantaneously  I'm identifying with her desire to hide away unnoticed, as to not disappoint expectant onlookers. After such thought and feeling,  I move to continue walking, making no mention of my bosom flower, safe within leaves I wish were my own.  And yet, upon noticing her, you slow and say, "Oh, no need to give up. It truly isn't so terrible..." And look to me for affirmation, tying a tiny verbal question mark to your closing remark: "all she's needing is some motivation."  Inwardly I add, "...and someone to have faith in her."  

D.

For He to be noticed increasingly more, and I continually less. 

d.

Cigarettes and hardcover poetry: a most pleasant indulgence. 

a.

i'm going to really miss how life is right now, the ignorance of tomorrow.
i started thinking about how this came to be and how happy that makes me.
how i could have never planned for this year.
and that makes me wonder why i ever question god's plan. 
for the road leads home. 

d.

Today is a Jack Johnson day.

And I'm glad,

 because my insides have been bruised for two weeks. 

I'm glad for a little ointment that 

soothes rather than stings.

(Did you know you have to break houses in

 as if they were a pair of shoes?

I didn't. )

D.

An excess of imprints.


From the docks of apathy 

  feet too big for

  shoes 

  suspend from ends of legs,

  bound

  by frozen lake.

Nuisance: the universal mistake. 

  

d.

"won't you come on home? we'll test the flying machine, and we'll go where you want. we'll sail the seven seas. "

Whatever home is, i'm sure it embodies some particular state of being: an old speed of breathing, a sense of unending experimentation, a  forgiveness that makes your hands smell like soil, as if  you were gardening - quite like the breath before a sun-kiss.

I miss the me I was with you, out in the front of the school, with my red scarf tied over my head, helping you with your lines, pretending to be in a play. The me who decide that when i die i'd like to be burned and then buried under a newly planted tree.

So, all there is to say now is -  fuck you. Fuck you and all we've been through, friend. You've been on my mind these past few days. And because of that i am grateful and blessed.

   (my memories of you are memories of being alive. alive with young innocent hope.)

all my love,

mandy

D.

Let there be light. 

 (a fast write)

Let there be light forever spraying from your feet and eyelashes. So that in your being you may see clearer than you do (clearer than most).

Let there be light to wash those corners of your mind you hide from. To shine and remind you that they exist differently from how you remember. That they breathe good sometimes and that the soot coating your teddy bears came from the days before we found you.

Let there be light found upon your fingernails. The kind of light that increases life and all pure love. Light that could provide you with the bravery to be alone in a healing unfamiliar happiness.

Let there be light erupting from the memories you find that lace your skin. Release the light so that it may release you from her abandonment. 

You love her. You will forever. I promise.

She is your darkness, but, if you'd let (- oh please darling, I say so because I know) she could be your light.