It is hard to ask for what I don’t want and harder to convince myself that I want it.
What I want can’t pay for the pleasures I have grown accustomed to. A question was posed to me: Is pleasure truly pleasure, or a sedative?
The sunscreen has run out. I am sorry I do not love the ocean. I prefer to enclosed by mountains or trees, or a prison of my own making.
The open shapelessness frightens me.
goals are like lovers:
you shouldn’t have too many,
and shouldn’t pick the ones that are sure.
Remember when my goal was to make myself feel everything?
how horrible that was
and then, my goal to make myself stop feeling?
how I beamed with achievement
before throwing myself down the stairs.
now I lay supine, Saturday or not
well-meaning shrieks in both ears
WHY DON’T I LIKE THIS, THAT, NOUN, VERB
at times I think I must feel more like you than you ever did.
Today I read the missed connections.
A man was writing to a woman. She asked him what the difference was between the N and R train routes. She wore a blue coat, a blue dress, and blue boots.
The man writes about how he wants to spend his life with her. He has lost all taste for other women.
Subjectively, she was tall and classy. Objectively, she wore all blue.
This seemed important to me, as the beloved mystery woman was dressed as all people were dressed in a dream I had. Only blue.
I wonder if is lovely to be her. I wonder if you can be strengthened by love you are not aware of. He is actively pining. Expending energy typing, wishing, dreaming.
What real reaction can a dream expect?
She stopped to ask him for directions once. It was 2014.
It’s only in New York that people say “on line” rather than “in line”, when waiting in order for something. I still say I am in line. I’m in it, although being on it sounds a little more aggressive; somehow implies having a little more control of the situation.
This observation has largely coincided with a completely unrelated personal shift.I used to think the most important thing in life was to be in love. Lately it has occurred to me that it’s terrible, if not altogether impossible to really be “in” it. To be in it is to be too close, too involved, too concerned. To be on love is maybe to accept the highs, but to remain above it, on top of it, distanced from it in a way.