It’s like this:

Replaced eating with sleeping, only time for one form of nourishment. 

And so I sleep. It’s free too. And it brings me closer to what I mean to be thinking of, in a way  that I can’t think of in the day. In a way that is so real. You are alive again in my dreams and it seems the most normal thing. So I wake up with such heartbreak.

Truly: How does one go on every day in the midst of such heartbreak? 
In the morning I put on makeup, inspecting my face for wrinkles that may look like yours. I put on clothes that you would have worn, or clothes you have worn: what we picked out of that pile of things you left. You loved lavender and so now I wear it for the first time. Grow my hair long, looking for you. All the while resisting the gut urge to be with my sisters: what I know is right. Instead substituting Portland-style dealing of greif: spend all my money on a tattoo that reminds me of you, so when people ask I can tell them how I let you down, how I sacrificed it all and ruined your life so I could be here, living the good life, far away from the family I promised myself I would always care for. 

So the doors fall down all around me and I am deeper inside. I cannot speak to you, I only hope you can imagine what I mean to say. 

What I mean to say is I am trying to not give up because I love you.

1 thought on “It’s like this:”

  1. I love the way you write so much, always so full of emotion. Everytime i read your stuff i get a clear feeling of what you were feeling. I miss talking to you, hearing about your life, reading your letters. Sad that i left portland temporarily, and then you leave, too. I wonder if i’ll ever even see you again…? If not, know that i have always thought you were so awesome and smart and kind of brilliant and i wish you all the best.

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