The last poem you ever wrote about me,
Is about you.
The last poem the boy before you wrote about me,
Was about who I should be without him.
And I’ve spent all my time,
Watching the two of you grow from afar.
You have found love in playing guitar on your small radio show,
Large foreign countries
And teaching on the west coast.
He has found love in being lost,
Lost in love with a broken girl,
Lost in 19th century English literature.
While I’m thinking about the two of you,
I wonder what it is that has become of me.
And, the truth is,
I am in love with these three girls,
One from the south,
Who dreams of a lost love,
Is wise beyond her years,
Has cheeks that turn bright red when she laughs
And wears lily Pulitzer silk shirts with lipsticks on them.
One from the suburbs of Boston,
Who speaks fast and loud,
Let’s down her wild child hair only when she’s feeling fearless
And claims she feels less than she does.
One from Boston,
Who dances just as beautifully as she loves,
Takes shot in two gulps
And listens like what she’s hearing is the only noise on earth.
Over miles of telephone connection,
When you both ask me,
Who I’ve become,
You really mean what have I fallen in love with,
Because you both expect it to be another boy,
Just like you,
Or something just a little off the edge since you left.
And although I tell you what you expect to hear,
If you really knew,
The thing I’ve found is
friends who have taught me
And the beauty of the journey.
And they are better than you can even imagine,
They are my love, my passion,
They are the real answer to your question.
“Every path is the right path. Everything could’ve been anything else. And it would have just as much meaning.”
Mr. Nobody (2009) dir. Jaco Van Dormael
I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.
In the desert there is no sign that says,
Thou shalt not eat stones.
— Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale. Anchor Books, 1998
The best book I’ve read this year <3 everyone should read it!!