"awesome thank you!"

Lonely. Depressed.
I'd like to hold you and know that it will last until morning.
That the stars can pull and the moon can tug but this moment isn't the tide, it's not being controlled by anything beyond our atmosphere.

Jupiter's probably jealous and maybe this should be my space camp post but I've got too much going on to care about much more than the electricity in the way you say my name.

At 6am I thought my alarm clock read G:0D. Maybe I was just tired but maybe he's been trying to wake me up for longer than I realize. 

I know God has given me nothing but time and all I've done is waste it.  Waste it on tides that never come back in and electricity that's drowning beneath the surface.  

"then either a 100 or 300"

You put your hands around me and I thought we could make it.

The stars and the moon and my bones and the little boy sitting third row at his first baseball game, 

they thought we could make it.

You cupped my face in your hands and I wanted to make it.

I'm standing at the finish line to a relay I ran alone. The refs are trying to explain I didn't win and I didn't follow the rules but I can't understand them because the broken glass coming out just sounds like a doorbell ringing through an empty house, or a kickball going left, going out of bounds. 

I didn't mean to end up sprinting solo. Never in those late practice chats did I think about a far off finish, or how hard that might be on you.

I thought that we could make it. 

200 N St, Salt Lake City

People are dying today. I'm dressed up because there's a mother saying goodbye right now. There's a daughter saying goodbye right now. There's a best friend saying goodbye right now.

People are crying goodbye right now. 

Ropes are collapsing right now. Pills are suffocating lives right now. IV's are running low, right now.

Eyes are covering the earth while they trace the tiles they never want to remember. Rubik's cubes are spinning in endless combinations but the sides just don't match up and it might be too late if they take another wrong spin.

I hope you never watch the white walls and blink back tears because too many triggers happen in the school hallways on his birthday. We're told to celebrate the lives they lived cause they did nothing but give.
and give and give and give and look where God put them. Under the ground to sit with their calcium and the worms they ran away from on rainy days

I wonder what the light feels like, when it's more than the edge of the door letting it through. I wonder, but I hope I never find out.


Hands are holding goodbye right now. They're lacing their fingers back and forth, back and forth, hoping they can catch death on it's way out. Hoping they can convince him he's mixed up the years, he's wrong about the time, there's still sand dropping in the clock.

Do you think death feels the pain in his chest? Like sharp lungs running on icy days. Maybe he cares about each individual drop of memories we let fall from our eyes because that's all sorrow is anyway: memories that can't be made new. Maybe he feels indifferent but I like to believe it's hard on him to watch small eyes and small hands wonder why uncle is giving them extra piggy backs and mommy won't read them a bedtime story.

Lives are living goodbye right now. and then, they're not.

"that sounds unreal i love italian sodas!'

This blog is for you, because I like to write about you best.

You reminded me I feel things, that I have bones that ache and quake and a spine that shivers at your touch.

You reminded me the depth of misunderstanding and the pit of long lost feelings.
You taught me what longing and let downs do in a tight rope conversation.
You know exactly how to show someone that toes and elbow and the back of your knees can feel charcoal smiles and wide open wounds.

Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Maybe I don't care how I sound anymore. You were the best thing that's happened to me since I stepped foot on Lone Peak's campus. You've pulled me out of a lot of dark times and dark things, some you still don't know about. You taught me what the sun and real grass can do for a faltering heart. How stammering and murmuring in your knees just means you're growing. You taught me not to hesitate my confidence or care if someone else cuts me off in traffic. You taught me. You taught me everything and life.

 Maybe God gave me you as a teacher because he knew I'd listen.

"maybe like 35-40 min!"

We could dance around this tabletop all night but you're afraid of the inevitable and I'm afraid of the words your eyes forget to say. There's a life outside this school hallway but I've forgotten it for the moment because you look so. damn. good today. I'm tracing your footsteps with my senses but I don't think I'll ever capture on film the gloss in your wake.

It makes me wish everyone were around to experience the first night I had you alone. You sang without a care, at the piano you've never known how to play. The laughter covered the lyrics in the sweetest disguise and I've been searching for your song hoping I'm only deaf in denial.
That. red. shirt. Can you even see my knees shaking? Is that a mere illusion my brain has punished me with because I still don't know how to ask you to come to the game?


I'm crossing the border and you're anxiously telling me all the things I'll need to know to get me through the week but I'll be back in ten minutes because you get me through the week.

and my mother will tell me I'm spending too much time on an electronic device but she's wrong. Because it's not the screen I'm attached to it's the other end. It's the voice that comes through this miracle technology has given me. I think when we were angels in heaven I begged to live when I would never have to go long without seeing you. And God clearly listened because he knew you were too good to be under appreciated.

I'm afraid I've crossed the border for too long and you've fallen asleep at the wheel. I'm afraid the miracle in my hand is only good for when you agree there's too much distance. I'm afraid there's a fork in the road and we took it separate days. I'm afraid two roads diverged and they won't cross again soon.

You left the hallway a glorified memory, I'm afraid that's all you'll ever do for me.

To Sarah Brown. (I always thought you had the softest brown hair.)

I never understood the life you were living. I was just a kid and you were just a troubled rebel who always smelled wrong. I wasn't allowed in your room because you were angry and would probably swear at me. But now I've realized

 you      lost      it       all.

All the marbles lined up and in one straight shot God said you were going to lose. 

He took the love and the understanding and the communication straight out of your home and left you with half of a half of a mother. She did you no wrong but she never could quite do you right and you still had to live to see tomorrow. I thought you chose to be the all-black stand away but you were begging to be the all-surrounded cured.

I thought the fights were crude and pointless and you were defiance in action against a cause, but you were struggling along the train tracks with a rope and a gun and you were plotting the best way to drown. 

You had it leap from your heart to the cold basement that you knew life wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. Why did your father have to go when your mother was barely high functioning? Why did the Destiny's Child CD and the American Girl Dolls turn from a childhood to a bitter pile in the corner of a pink room that is far too ready for a happy girl to come home with a happy smile to happy parents with happy problems.

 Nothing about the current you were caught in seemed happy, and I thought you chose that. I'm sorry I never held your hand or told you how much it meant that you let me use your endless CD's. I'm sorry I sat on the concrete floor and played with your ferrets alone and ran quickly upstairs when you came out of your room.

I was just a kid. I didn't know.