I wish I could cure you.

Thoughts of hypothermia.

I sat shivering in thin denim with the hood of my jacket pulled over my eyes. The concrete was like an ice block beneath me. The man across the street was walking his cream colored Pomeranian in his big maroon bathrobe, talking to it in that disgusting manner one would speak to a baby. Dogs can't understand people. Then again, people can't understand people, so what difference does it make? I let him speak to his ugly pet across the street, as I had other things on my mind. I wasn't sure what to do, and sat staring at my phone. I wanted to call again. But I knew no one would answer. I settled for ignoring the sting of my skin in the frozen weather, and watching my chattering breaths make clouds in front of my eyes. I cried until I thought my tears might freeze on my face. I quickly wiped them away at the thought.
I hope that man and his dog didn't hear me.
I wish you were here.

Leave me alone.

I've got a bad taste in my mouth
and an even worse temper.
Don't test me, child.
I'm a bringer of bad weather.

I will let you sleep.

Something in my head contradicts the fact that I believe every negative thing that has happened to or between us doesn't matter at all. I am sorry if sometimes I am scared. I guess it scares me that I have given every ounce of my mind, heart, and trust to you. I'm afraid of feeling so vulnerable. It's something that has roots that run deep, back into dark parts of my past. It's hard to get past feeling so scared.
I don't want you to think that I am irrational, or uncaring.
In reality, I care more for you than anything in this world. Or anything in any other world, for that matter.
No matter how many phrases I use to describe my love for you are labeled as sappy or cliche, I pen them as though they were original, and being spoken straight from the beating in my chest- like some sort of morse code love letter, signed in blood. There's so much more I wish to say to you than simple expressions and commonly used comparisons.

I've tried to write songs to express how I feel about you. Only one has ever made it to your ears, only because it has been the most lighthearted and least revealing one so far. Also, I've never come up with a melody quite right for anything to match you. I don't think I have the skills to write like that. I have a hard enough time coming up with words that fit. Usually, I don't get past the second verse, because I lose myself in thought. You are absolutely puzzling to describe. You're fascinating. Beautiful. Frighteningly intelligent... Then I start to trail off and think of how I would describe you in metaphors, only to find that maybe I would describe you as a star. Sometimes you're so far away, but you are still always there, brightly shining through all of the darkness that surrounds you, and giving me hope. But then, still I think that a star wouldn't quite even do you justice.

Do you know how many times I've tried to replicate your eyes on paper? Watercolors, colored pencils, paints, pastels... every medium. I even tried cutting bits of paper. That didn't work. They're too hard to capture in a still frame. Just like the whole of you. Tall and thin, always thinking- always moving somehow. Gears turning inside your head conjuring all sorts of magical things. Beautiful things, and dark things too. Always moving your hands, or messing up your hair. Creating things. Taking pictures. Scribbling. Doing magic tricks.

This isn't just some stupid post on some stupid blog, today. I'm taking my time on this, and I consider it an expression of what goes on inside my confused head.

I see that you are uneasy, usually when we aren't alone. You always seem like you're watching your back, or counting your words. Your head's somewhere else, but you maintain composure for the sake of appearance. You don't like being questioned, and you don't like your anxiety to be noticed. But I can always tell when something's wrong. Whether you know I know or not. Sometimes I don't bring attention to it, because I feel like you wouldn't want me to. I hope I'm doing the right things.

When we're alone, you're comfortable. You relax, and even sleep sometimes. Your hands drift down my spine, resting on the curve of my side. Something about physical contact between us just conquers any feelings of worry or discomfort and fills the gaps in with relief. I believe this happens because when we are apart, we're like two puzzle pieces in the puzzle box. All broken apart and awkwardly shaped, and you can't really tell what's going on with either on it's own. Put them together and things start to make sense. Things start to feel right.


I guess what this whole collection of thoughts is trying to express is that I believe in you.
I don't want you to think I'm upset, or mad, or anything.
Usually, it's just because I get so overwhelmed.
I always want to help, and when I can't, I get nervous, and anxious, and all other sorts of unpleasant things.

I really do love you.
And I know you know that,
and I know you love me too.
And that's all that matters.

[Para siempre.]

Sweater Song

Cherry Sweater.

Estimated Compliments Received: 6

Estimated Sexual Jokes About It: 10

Times I've Told People to Shut Up Today:
Lost count around 50, or so

For Real.

Today has been a whirlwind.

Utterly confusing, uplifting, inspiring, demanding, and altogether exhausting.
It has been filled with feelings of despair, followed by immense relief.

I went out tonight with a friend of mine who, strangely, I have never hung out with before.
We listened to Paramore. I was proud of him for knowing the words to at least three of the songs. It seems he isn't totally oblivious to music outside the world of FM Radio (We'll see what he does when I let him listen to Fanfarlo.) We went to the mall. We are complete opposites, but in some strange way we understand each other. Odd as it would seem to some outside observer, we had fun. I dragged him into some girly store where the only men there were interested in other men, or worked there- he attracts guys, for some reason. We laughed about the awkwardness of him waiting for me to get my clothes and let him go into the preppy stores. I was more attracted to the more eccentric stores, while he was into all the stores with obvious billboard-esque branding all over every article of clothing, straight down to the socks. Which, admittedly, I sort of liked, in certain forms. And he, admittedly, liked some of the things I was looking at as well. It all worked out, I suppose.
(I made him try on some skinny jeans. That was an experience I'm sure neither of us will EVER forget.)
Today I bought:

• Pop-Rocks (Strawberry)...I ate them in the car on the way to Barnes and Noble, giggling nonstop
• Jones Soda Cola Fizzing Candy... I really like fizzy, popping candy
• A shirt/dress with big colorful stripes that reminds me of nautical flags
• A gray knit sweater with a big picture of a cherry on it 
• Black knock-off Wayfarers (I MISSED HAVING THEM SO MUCH, last ones broke)
• "Just Kids" by Patti Smith, which I cannot wait to read. I read an excerpt from it in Rolling Stone two months ago and I have been anxiously waiting for it to hit the shelves.
• The fourth fleece jacket of it's kind in my friend's closet, bought it for him. This one's blue. He has a red one, a white one, a black one, and now a blue one. I think I may have some of his relatives come after me now. 
• Some type of gag-candy that looks like a big bag of blood, for my friend to give as a gift. It is really quite terrifyingly realistic. Transfusion, anyone? Fruity! *He says he will pay me back on Monday. Which, I don't much mind. But alright sure.*
• Two Starbucks drinks. I got a Green Tea Frappe, he got some Iced Mocha deal. I dunno, I just like how vibrantly green and repulsive looking mine is, because it is so unexpectedly DELICIOUS. No one ever asks for a sip, due to appearance.

There is nothing like shopping to bring out a rambling stream of thought conversation for the ride home- I talked this kid into silence. And that, no offense to him, is not easy to do.
He has good opinions, and good input on things. We talked about college, and about our relationships.

Which brings me to my next topic from today.
Things are going to get better for my boyfriend and I.
This time, I can feel it. It's really going to happen. I trust him much more than I ever have, and love him more every single second. Tonight we both had plans of our own, and I believe we both had a good night. I'm still waiting for the signal from him to call. I can't wait to talk to him.
I know you read this, dear.
I am proud of you, you know. For how far you've come.
I am promising to you, in front of the whole internet-affiliated world, that I am going to make all of those beautiful daydreams about our future come true.
We can do this.

I read the most beautiful book in Barnes and Noble. It was a short little book. It was on the Valentine's Day display shelf, and I was drawn to the cover, because it depicted two cartoon dinosaurs, much like to two I had drawn for Daniel in a children's book for Christmas. So, I read it. It talked about how the dinosaur was in his cage of ice, and how another dinosaur, called the lovely dinosaur, came along and melted the big block of ice with kind words. They fell in love. They realized each other's flaws, but accepted them. Then it told everyone to be more loving, and to act like the two dinosaurs, because the world is warm and full of light.
I nearly cried.

I love you, Daniel.
Let's be dinosaurs.

Darling,

Do you know how much you mean to me?

Sometimes the only way to feel better is to get sick

I guess that's what happened to me today.
Threw up this morning, found out we didn't have school anyway. So I guess that's good.
My throat still feels weird though.
It was terrible and violent. But, I'm alright now. That's all that matters. I was really worried I was going to spend the whole day with my head bent over a toilet bowl. Luckily that didn't happen this time.

On another note...
I keep thinking about how I felt the first time I woke up next to you.
Really, waking up is so much harder to do now that I know how it feels to be sleeping beside you, in your arms. Waking up now, I am alone in my room, in my tiny bed, surrounded by reminders and pictures of you. It's really fucking difficult to wake up like that.

But, I keep thinking about how I might see you this weekend. Or just soon, I hope.
Then maybe waking up won't be so hard. For a few days, at least.

Postal Tape and Shag Rug.

Surprise Two-Hour Early Dismissal.

Guitar time.

(hate you, webcam... reversing stuff.)

playing A-PUNK.

love,

the hipster in the striped sweater.

Financial Forms and the Lying Washing Machine

Sitting here staring at all the blank spaces on this scholarship form is making me dizzy.

It reminds me of the empty space between my fingers that your hand should be filling.

Just like my chicken scratch should be filling out this two page Mad-Lib of bits of my identity and my family's financial information.

Now I know what you meant when you said you should have waited a year until going to college. I honestly don't think I'm ready.

Only part I'm ready for is putting my clothes in your dresser and calling the Sanctuary home. 

It's funny though, I still don't know where I'm going. I mean, I say I don't because I haven't really proclaimed where I'm going to my parents. But I know it in my head. It's our little secret, I guess.

They can talk about Marshall all they want to. I'm not going there. It's too far away from everything I've ever known. It's like another world. I honestly do not even want to take a tour there. But I'll probably do it, just to have a weekend trip and to humor them. 

I wonder how they'll react when I tell them the truth.

My stomach ache is getting worse and all I want to do is curl up beside you and sleep.

You Marched Out of Time

Dear ______,

I write to you sitting on the balcony of my new house, facing the ocean. This cliff is just like the pictures in the brochure.
The white foam is closest, where the waves break on the rocks. Then, as it progresses away from me, the blue gets darker and darker until it stops and meets the sky. Sometimes the line there is on fire with a red sunset.

Yesterday, I talked to a man who has lived here for his whole life. He owns the flower shop downtown.
He told me that all he sees anymore is gray and that the sound of the ocean is an annoying static that "buzzes in your ears like mosquitoes down on the coast of Florida".
He also told me his lungs have a thick lining of salt from breathing all the mist from the sea.
(Maybe that's what makes his words so harsh.)
After a while of melancholy conversation, I decided to purchase a nice bouquet of wildflowers to see if some business would cheer him up.
It didn't.
He's an awfully somber man for someone who owns a flower shop.

In fact, a lot of people here seem awfully somber.

I thought Maine would be filled with happy, rosy-cheeked fishermen and their lighthouse-keeper wives.
Sure, it has the fishermen, but they're all salty dogs with briny beards and cold eyes.
I thought this place would be filled with happy distractions.
I need distractions.

I can't keep pretending I don't miss you.
I know I said we could both go our separate ways and I'd write you a letter at least once a month. I've been doing that. But somehow every single cursive letter progressively leads me into darker places. I feel like one of the ships anchors is tied about my waist.

Do you know why I moved here?

Because I had to get as far away from you as possible. I smiled and shook your hand that last day of moving out. We awkwardly waved goodbye.
I went straight to a friend and started to search for a place to live.
Crossing off states that we went to together, and then narrowing it by how far away and how expensive it would be to live there.
Then I found it.
Maine, I said.
I convinced myself it would be good to get away.

But every mile marker in that moving van seemed to hit me straight in the chest. I had trouble breathing and convinced myself it was due to the change in atmospheric pressure as I moved up the coast.
For a minute, I believed myself.
But I thought about you again, and started to feel carsick.

I still feel carsick, sitting on the balcony in one of the most beautiful, most melancholy places I've ever been.
It's all the motion of loving you, and then stopping completely that's made my stomach into a huge knot.
I've lost so much weight, my bones stick out. I hide in oversized Fair Isle sweaters and listen to Beatles records over and over again.

Every day I hope that by some chance you'll show up at my doorstep and I'll open the door and run into your arms and you'll kiss me like you used to.
I can only imagine who you have your arms around now.
Some model from Manhattan or a highly successful businesswoman. You always attracted the successful types. Which is why I always felt out of place at your friends New Years Eve parties and fancy soirees. I would hunch in my designer gown you bought for me and hold my wine glass in an improper, sloppy manner, and smile shyly at all your million-dollar friends.
But then you'd hold my hand, and kiss me on the cheek secretly, and everything would be okay.
And that's all I want now.
That's all I've ever wanted.

I hope this letter isn't too late.

I love you, I always have...

Sincerely,
________

How am I supposed to save you from drowning when I have an anchor tied to my waist?

my feet feel like cinderblocks, my head feels like a balloon

You sat there cold, ten feet away. Minutes turned into hours. You got your coat.

Sometimes I feel like you really are my brother, and that you're part of my family. Part of some mysterious family I never see.

You talked about her, or music for most of the conversation. I know how much you care about her. I feel like I can relate to you, with distance being both our worst enemies. 

We exchanged stories of nostalgia and humor. 

You talked about her just like I talk about him.

I can't count how many times either of us said "Yeah. I know how that goes."

I'll always be your sister. 

Though no familiar blood runs between us.

The World's So Green, 'Cause You're Holding Hands With Me.

I guess sometimes I feel let down.
But most of the time I feel hopeful.
Because by some strange act of fate,
I have you in my life.

This is not a poem.
This is my mind.

You write songs perfectly.
I don't think I ever told you
How much I love hearing you sing.
Well, I do. I love it, love you.

When you draw you stick
your tongue out and squint
focusing on the story behind it
penning pages with a picture.

"What do you think it means?"
You ask me, and I try
to think of the story in beautiful words
to do justice to the honesty in your work

Would you care to know a secret?
You're the only home I've ever had.
When I was curled up dark sienna light
Under the covers in a bed too small.

It was too early, we had stayed up late
and you kissed my forehead
and told me to go back to sleep
that you'd be back in a little while.

I don't think I've ever slept so peaceful.
I had something to look forward to.

This is not a poem.
This is my love.

I want to take care of you
and make the world brighter for you
with songs and fireflies in a jar
with radios and a warm place to sleep.

This is not a poem.
This is all for you.

Everything I ever do is for you.

sleep.

in a dream i had once
we were taking pictures
with instant film in a room
filled with sunshine stripes
spilling through the blinds

they fell on your skin
making it look like
you had a striped shirt
but your chest was as bare
as the inside of our refrigerator

i dream of days of denim
and old cotton dresses
the fresh smell of linen
and your eyes brightly shining
in the summer morning light

or waking up to rain
pouring from the gray
and your hand holding me
close like we're braced
for some awful storm

but we just laugh
and roll our bodies over
to sleep away our worry
and dream of the day
that this will all be real

Spiraling.

I am losing it.

Staring at the shadows on the walls.

Blurry eyes, absent smile.

I should be happy.

Holding on to your sleeve,

like I'm clutching onto life.

I am not normal.

Feeling sick and fevered,

no words can come out.

I can't do anything.

Los Campesinos!

This is a little mini-monologue type thing interjected within the song "This is How You Spell 'HA HA HA I've Destroyed the Hopes and Dreams of a Generation of Faux-Romantics"
It is one of my favorite songs, and I love this part.

"You walk in from your mother's balcony,
Panda-eyed and freezing cold.
You bury yourself in my chest to warm
I notice the goosebumps on your arms, millions.

And whether it's because of the numbers of hours spent laid facedown on my bed listening to white noise, or, well, obviously it's not, I somehow manage to translate them from braille.

The trails on your skin spoke more to me than the reams and reams of half finished novels you'd leave lying all over the place

And every quotation that'd dribble from your mouth like a final, fatal livejournal entry;
I know.
I am wrong.
I am sorry."

My Mental Record...Starts to Skip

I think something is broken.

I can hardly remember things these days. This whole past week is a blur.
All freeze-frames and blurry faces, and the Charlie Brown teacher's voice is everyone's voice in my mind.
Except you.

With you, it is different.
With you, I remember every single solitary detail. Every word.
Every motion, every sound.
I remember the pace of your heart and when you held my left ring finger and made a silent pinkie promise.

I think I am broken.

I hurt you ceaselessly, and in my mind I know it is wrong, and that I am saying things I don't mean.
We both need help.
But this is something that I am terrified of.
This is something that I have never experienced.
This thing has got to stop.
I don't know if it's from the pills.
Maybe I've always been this way.
But it needs to go away.

Truth:
I hate saying goodbye to you.
I hate watching you leave my driveway.
I hate being without you.
I hate when I hurt you.
I hate me.

I am the sole reason nothing works right.
But please. Please. Please believe me when I tell you that I am trying to change it.

haircut.

I am going out to dinner tonight with some friends, so I decided to get a haircut. In the chair, I was thinking about how I have changed so much.

It really is strange thinking about how long ago it was that I was an awkward overweight pre-teen. I can't believe I used to wear those stupid wildlife t-shirts two sizes too big, and all those baseball caps.

Then, into middle school, when I discovered punk music and the glories of black nail polish. Back then, I was afraid and angry. I used to hate and envy every single person I saw in the hallways. Girls with pretty blonde hair and the latest new trends and colorful notebooks. All those boys gawking and drooling over them. It made me hate them. I got over it. Then, I started to make friends. Slowly.

My freshman and sophomore years I had a small group of close friends and I was still trying to define myself as a person. I had gained the attention of a certain boy and we ended up dating for almost two years. That was a mistake. But, I had gained a lot of friends through the first two years or so. I was dressing in bright neon, and skinny jeans. I cut my hair short, and dyed it a lot. Blonde, dark brown. That died out pretty quick though.

Then, junior year came around. Mistakes mistakes mistakes. It is all a blur for me, I try to block it out. But then I met this person who now means more to me than anything else in the whole world. He loves me for who I am, and he has helped me to become a better person. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Senior year is now. This has been the most emotionally trying year of my life, but probably one of the best so far. I've figured out who my real friends are. They are few. But I love them.

Beluga Whales and Crow Birds

Snowy white.
Slick skin.
Water rolling over
ivory fins.

We laughable
mammal things!
Beluga whale
laughs with me.

Smoky black.
Never sings.
Cawing beak.
Feathered wings.

We laughable
mammal things!
Crow bird
Laughs with me.

Laugh at arms;
Featherless wings.
Snicker at legs,
tripping over things.

Cackle at clothes;
Pants with pleats.
Chuckle at toes;
Stubby on our feet.

We laughable
mammal things
do not have
fins or wings.

We try hard
to mimic them-
Crows and whales-
But we are men!
                                                  

   -Original poem by M.E.E.

I had no idea this picture even existed.

My father and I, and my grandmother's shi-tzu, Snuffy.

Today was a good day.

Didn't have any bad thoughts today. Just good ones, which hasn't happened in a while.
Started off kind of odd, and my jacket smelled of cigarette smoke, but as the day went on it became clear to me that I would rather have something to do (even if it isn't my favorite thing-*school*) than have nothing to do at all and go into a frantic state of mind searching for something to occupy my buzzing head with.

Things that happened today:

I got an A on my Government project, which means I can graduate. That's a plus.
I reconnected with some friends I really missed over the break.
I found out my Journalism teacher may become a published author.
I saw my Composition teacher's engagement ring. As sparkling as her excited smile!
I saw that someone else has a fondness for Dr. Martens as a fashion staple. Worn with a dress. Love.
I ate (some) lunch and scored a free chocolate milk from a friend. I was thirsty, good timing.
I had cheery conversations, and lovely songs stuck in my head all day.

Also, looking forward to tonight. Comfy pajamas, hopefully some ice cream, and a movie with my love.
All-in-all, quite satisfactory.

"I'll be your winter coat, buttoned and zipped straight to the throat with the collar up so you won't catch cold."

M.

Murdermurdermurdermurder.

This is the face of your killer.

Oh how I wish, but...

Nevernevernever.