tres semanas.

i have a hard time finding someone to keep up with me.

not just the late nights. not just the conversation. not just the demanding musical taste. not just the humor. really, just all of it. and maybe i'll never find that. but i've been finding it lately, or at least feeling (or imagining) a burning desire from others who have been trying to match it because i'm on the verge of departure.

this is the right thing to do, because it's something that i want to do, and that i envy and daydream about. it's something that i want to write, and something that i hate to read, because it's not me. the problem is, it's a retreat and a dream that can only be pursued through disconnection. there's no way to write it off. when i'm so far away, things are going to be different. i lie to myself sometimes, or maybe it's just me forgetting. i say there are phones, and envelopes, and an entire ocean of information keeping us connected. airmail, and packages, and cameras, and visits, and all of the words i have at my disposal which should be able to fill the void of late night hangouts, movie nights, ice cream, windows down, solitary album confinement, headbanging, beer runs, ecstacy and locked doors, arms, small bodies, "i'll come see you at the store," or "come outside! i'm here!"

yeah, like there is any amount of words that can match the way my eyes meet yours.
all of you.

i'm taking a chance.

last night, as part of a huge first step in the rest of the way an interaction will carry on throughout my entire life (christina romito), i cried remembering back to the first night i told all of you that i was leaving. the saddest night that i've ever had without romantic heartbreak was on valentine's day and just bawling because i told carissa that i'm leaving. it was probably one of the most genuine emotional releases i've ever been subjected to, because this wasn't something that was done to me, or some sort of rejection... this was the fear, and the acceptance of a change in the way of life. this was a realization of everything at once, and a denial of reality. this was the first breathe of growing up and getting out. i remembered the nerves of trying to tell rahul that i'm not going to be able to be a part of the endless cycle that we've created. telling brian that, yes, another one is leaving. telling kerry that there's no more 3-5am. telling mikey and kim that as they're waxing, i'm waning; i'll see their child grow up in phases in photos.

that whole emotion, so heavy, that, listen, when i'm gone, it's all just sporadic contact from here on in. maybe i'll be home. telling tina, someone who was once my best friend, my lover, my entire existence from time to time, that for these past three months while we've been reconstructing, and destroying a way of life, we've been wasting all of the time that we could've been logging building up a buffer that would make it okay to be far away from each other. the same way i've been doing with everyone else. making every second count.

instead, we hear about each other through various questions that we pretend not to want to ask, and through a photographic networking site, and through acquaintances who say, "hey, have you heard...?" fuck love, fuck new love, fuck old love... this girl is my fucking friend, and we work on any level we want to work on.

admission: i wish we never stopped talking, and that we had filters that would make us just end up leaving all of the baggage at the door back then, instead of waiting for the baggage to become boxed up in a glass cube that isn't feared any longer. just something that we could look in on at our own discretion. i wish i had at least march and april back. it might be too short of a time span to try to rebuild enough of a rapport to even keep in touch, dedicatedly, while i'm away.

c'est la vie.

nicole was probably the easiest to tell the saddest part too. we've done this before. we have miles under our belt that no one can even touch. 6 months of romance, a jersey farewell that i can't ever drive away from without looking in the rearview, and a few close calls of silences that were absolutely necessary. we've done this through tears, and screaming, and laughing, and sighing, and blabbering, and talking, and advising, and everything. i know no matter where we are, we will always be great. this time, it's just my address changing, and my location being transplanted. i love that she won't know where she might be in three to six months. because i know that i'll be finding out just as she will.

but those sad emotions all came rushing back to me and overshadowed all of the amazing emotions that i feel about a completely new place. the experience, the drive, a completely unattached life, the warmth, the world, the environment, the freshness, the new faces that i just won't recognize, the new streets, the shaking free any intentional or unintentional shackles that've held me down. this is what i need, and what i've been looking forward to. maybe not THIS city, but ANY city other than home. i love home. i love long island. i love here.

i am not a laser.
i am rays.

i'm not like anyone else that i know. i'm going to find out which parts of me stick and which parts of me will grow and which parts of me fall away and which parts of me blossom that i never knew i had. i'm going to find out everything.

this could be the best thing that's ever happened to me.
this could just be the beginning.
this could just be 'nice try.'

anathallo.

Yo are you serious? She says "let me hit that before I go out." A mixing and mingling of mind and matter. "I feel like a bunch of fucking hippies." Reliving a lifetime and an experience completely un our own. Tell me that it'll be good enough to not invent our own time period. Our own generation. Hippies set the bar, and we all reach it and fall down, reach it and fall, reach it and fuckin fall. Make new names for your lifetimes. a living legend of a hero that has never even been met yet. That works a job. That makes

Quote. "Oh, you graduated in 2005? I graduated in 2004. You a baby." I'm always the oldest of all the occupants.

"Can you stop climbing on me? I'm not a mountain."

Incubus - The Warmth
Jose playing sideways. Brandon singing. Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold.

Eyes open halfway and never had a chance. Can't see past tonight. Tomorrow might be work tomorrow might be selling or buying. Tomorrow could be another chance to waste a chance.

Thursday - Jet Black New Year.

I wrote her, she never wrote back and ill wait for her forever I think. Where is she right now. Either the worker or the drinker. The swimmer. The lover. The lover. The feeler. The thinker. The writer. The laugher. The lover. The misser. The memory. The disaster. The ever.

And ever.

A fight over who can smoke. And who stole who's joke. "My neighbors are old, but they hear really well." Pwned.

Only three left. Four now. Silence, and eating cookies. And wanting water. Outside and there's a hoodie I can grab and call someone and get in their damn way.

Matter of fact... Daves girlfriend... Her name is jen or something... She looks like Her mom. Kids are going to sleep or making out. What's happening here.

the things we pack away; the things we keep at home.

i have to start to realize, some day, that when people aren't hanging out, that doesn't mean they're not appreciating you. i forget this all the time. not so much FORGET, but overlook. because i know that it's fine.

i never realized that i throw things in people's faces as often as i do until tonight. my spot was blown up right before my eyes. instead of being covered in the aftermath, i sort've watched it explode and trickle down. i get it now.

the past few days, i just haven't felt like myself. especially at home. i find myself not even knowing what i want to do; what i want to hear, or watch, or experience. no clue who i want to hear from, or what i want to say. what questions i want to ask. what words i want to write. i'm usually so focused, and deliberate. it leaves me feeling really lost. i think about the fact that this is how some people lead their entire lives. jesus.

he's just trying to scratch the itch.