update, why i’m not writing

this is a diary that has held up through 3 long years. 

now, with so much gone into the private file, it is a diary about one boy.

you asked me not to call
i am the voice of soured love
i am the voice of destruction
so please don’t call,
don’t speak, you say
your friendship breaks me.

that boy has decided to retract his hand and fade into the past.  he has disconnected himself from me.  i don’t even know what state he’s living in. 

*  *  *

this diary has not been the home of the new boy.  this diary has not seen me harden with his hardships.  i have closed myself, and part of me has died.  and i acknowledge, it’s because of him, he has shown me a world without poetry, a world without frivolous erudite conversation.  he has given me the meaning of words like ‘debt’, ‘rent’, ‘save’, ‘loneliness’.  because he is the lonliest young man i’ve ever been close to.  he has taught me that the best way to reach him is without words.  we are a couple full of action, we drive we go we make love we dance we paint the walls blue and green and gold. 

and i can’t write about him, he is not poetry.  i am happy to be more practical, more realistic. he is the real world, he is not words on a page.  he is eyes and lips and hands and spanish words in the dark.  and i have stopped wishing he was poetry just as he has stopped wishing that i was manual labor and cooking.  seven months later, we are compromises of who we were.  and i am ok with that.

maybe someday i will see him as poetry.  or i will want to be with someone who is.  until then, i wish you all well.