i met you a year and sometime ago. the trees were dead and the ground was covered in snow. we were friends and sometimes lovers even when you had another. summer passed and school was starting. we chose were to live and starting talking. i stayed patient though at times you made it hard. when i had given up you decided we weren't ment to be apart. you cared for me and you showed me daily. you even loved me the times i went crazy. we made art, sometimes food, and love each night, but we were able to tear eachother apart whenever we would fight. we saw eachothers ups and lows. you offered to take me in when i had no place else to go. and even when we weren't together we were never really apart. you were the first person that i was able to love with all my heart.
and in a few weeks i'll probably never see your face again.
i live in my head, i rarely speak, i draw and paint my dreams. i'm just different. i love more then i think and this results badly. i will follow you into the dark for months just to see the light for a second. i will never intentionally try to hurt you. i will ignore you before i will ever curse you. i will hate the girls before i ever hate you. you are just different. and i love you because you make things with your hands.
instead i cultivate a taste for small pleasures--listening to strangers talk, pretending i play the piano, watching foreign films by myself without english subtitles, painting, watching strangers pass me by, counting my foot steps for one place to the next, day dreaming, using books for pillows, touching everything i see with my finger tips, dancing drunk, stealing random treasures, collecting leaves, sitting in the shower, rearranging my room, listening to records, dipping my hand into sacks of grain, eating bagels, loving holly, getting coffee with my two lovebirds, etc.