8-nov-2015
eyes eyes eyes eyes eyes eyes you said you had never seen eyes like mine but my eyes eyes eyes are common
is it their color
or their expressiveness
you said I look sad and I do because I am
so that was a useless observation
my eyes green blue red blue red
frat boy wisdom:
"blonde girls with blue eyes are batshit crazy"
amen.
10-nov-2015
I usually am more poetic when drunk like that last time: eyes eyes and so on. "Eyes" seemed like a meaningful word at the time. You showed me a poem called You and me and told me it was the first time you were able to write in years. I gave you formal comments on it: some grammar improvements. I did not understand its meaning until you went stanza by stanza and explained it to me. You often complain about being misunderstood but make no effort whatsoever to become clear. Comes with the territory, I guess. Wish I could tell you.
3-nov-2016
Today is your birthday and we had a long phonecall. Sadness clings to your voice. "I am sadness", you say. I don't know what to do with that statement. Our kindredness turns our sufferings into parallels. My pain is yours and likewise. I told you about that poem from last year. When I read it again it became clearer: you do not write about events, but about emotional textures. I wish we needn't inflict such violence upon our emotions. Yet we do. Your happiness is cryptic, whereas your sadness is ever clearer. Something similar happens to me. Happiness seems too much an abstraction and sadness is always concrete. Pink is unreal in front of gray.
It is still hard carrying things I wish I had said. When I told Megan about my love for her she wasn't one bit surprised. She kissed my lips lightly and then said she could never become what I need. I wanted not to need her. Loving her is not a call for satisfaction. Not a requirement. I think she was surprised when I told her about you—you made out with a boy!— and I still can't explain it. It felt right at the moment and though I don't regret it, I wish it had happened in a different way. We were two ill people fondling each other's illness. I found that night in my horrible sofa how bodies can connect and how illness tries to heal itself. It is an illness, isn't it?
4 dic-2018
During the past months I had some cognitive misfires. Words separating from their meaning and shapes intertwining. But shapes should not intertwine in real life. Shapes are shapes and not love and words are not sounds. I felt scared and called you because the same thing happened to my mom. You didn't answer.
