- did yoga
- put lions mane tincture and saffron in my coffee
- ate oats with fruit
- drank second coffee
- drank peppermint tea
- listened to new age bullshit in the bathtub
- watched the second half of The Fallout. Sobbed uncontrollably.
- ate cookies
- watched Somebody Somewhere. Sobbed uncontrollably. (Someone fucked up so I have HBO for free.)
- now just sitting here, hoping that soon I won't cry so much. Having flashbacks of happy times with R, running all over town, laughing, singing. All that hometown comfort that I need but can't have anymore.
I want to go home. I need to walk along the old train tracks, to hear the train coming, louder and louder until the ground shakes, until the air shakes, until the rhythm is so loud it tunes out all else, until the horn blares so loud I can't feel my pain, so I can cry without anyone hearing.
Then I'll go to my childhood lake when no one is around. And find my old echo spot and scream as loud as I can to hear it echo back. And pick all the flowers and turn an oak tree into a shrine.
They're demolishing our trashy dive karaoke bowling alley and renovating it into something "nice." I don't want something nice. I want our trashy piece of shit small town memories left alone as is. I like our toothless bartender. I have all these nice things in the city and all I want to do is go home and cry with the cows and the frogs and the red winged blackbirds and a rickety old freight train.
I want to go home and kiss the earth.
A few weeks ago I visited his neighborhood in virtual reality. An old man was pedaling a mexican ice cream bike. Sneakers strung over the power lines. The neighbor on the porch in a hairnet. If I use my imagination I can smell the summer grass and spicy dinner cooking. If I use my imagination I can remember his tan arms holding me, my beautiful country boy, those gorgeous eyelashes, his caring words, making me feel safe and loved and accepted.
I had the most attractive popular guy in town pining for me. Every girl seemed jealous. Multiple women had his name tattooed on them, and I'm probably the only one who didn't attend his funeral. I just couldn't.
Weeks before he died I asked him, "Are you my boyfriend?"
"Do you want to be?" he asked. I fell asleep and didn't reply.
Last night I imagined us holding hands walking together toward the edge of a cliff. I stopped and let go of his hand and he continued walking until there was no ground beneath his feet.
- 2023-01-31