the refuge i found

the refuge i found, the one that’s always been there for me, is these words.  whether pen scribbles of ink into palm notebooks or finger taps on keys, this is my salvation.

and now i sit here at the desk where it all started.  where that pubescent and adolescent pain rang out all throughout those violently changing atoms.  back then there was no escape but these words.  i’d write.  and scribbling into notebooks, the pain would dissipate.  whether they were ever read or spoken out loud again was irrelevant.  it was the pure act of creation, spontaneous creation that healed.

these days pain and heartache accompany me everyday in almost every moment.  it’s been like that for months now.  sometimes i surrender, i look at her instagram account even though i don’t follow her anymore.  see who she follows and what pictures she likes.  it hurts me when she likes somebody else’s picture, she never likes mine anymore.  does she even notice?  does she ever think about me?  i think about her all the time.  2nite, sitting on my parents’ couch, i watched parts of “fever pitch” and “cloud atlas” and both brought me to tears.  i miss her so much.  i think about marrying her.  i would.  right now.  doubt and shame, darkness and pain, ring out but i love her with every ounce of my soul.  i can’t call her and say hello.  she won’t see me face to face.  “friends” who i thought were “friends” disappear into the abyss of social media.  maybe i pushed them away.  i isolated myself.  going deeper and deeper inside.  thinking like i was japan or germany gearing up their nations for world war.  i got a fascist soul, pink isn’t well he stayed back at the hotel . . .

but i’m here.  clear.  sober.  in the room where i grew up.  in the room where i lost my virginity.  in the room where i wrote.  and i wrote.  and i cried.  and i prayed.  i found myself and lost myself over and over again.  endlessly this cycle this transmigration of souls.  death is a door.  an open door.  why won’t she walk through that door?  come back to me baby.  please come home.  there is no answer.  only silence.  and choices.  and the choices i have made have brought me here.  to this right now.  sitting at the desk where i used to write.  i write new words of the new now.  which as soon as i type is gone.  it’s cold outside my angeleno blood has gotten soft from 12 years in california.  i grew up here in this house about 15 minutes west of boston.  we had fall, winter, spring and summer.  changes in the atmosphere.  i fucked it all up.  habitual actions i am working hard to change.  i have changed.  definitely not the man you once knew.  can we meet again as lovers and fuck this pain away?  can we meet again as partners and support each other’s dreams?  am i wasting my time and mind energy cause my heart won’t stop loving you?

words.  i have these words.  my refuge.  my salvation.  my second chance.

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