Things I’ve been meaning to tell you:

  1. Paul and I got high on my stoop the other night and he told me this story about when he used to fly in helicopters with no doors on them. He said he stuck out as much of his body as he could when they flew threw a cloud. He said, “The cloud washed…cleansed, and moisturized me all at the same time.” I think that’s the answer to our question of why he’s always looking up at the sky.
  2. I haven’t thrown out your toothbrush yet. Not because I see it as “a symbol of our time together” or intend to use it or anything; I think I just like the way the colors on yours look good next to the colors on mine.
  3. I think about if you think about me
  4. ^And really wish I didn’t
  5. The other day I had this thought about how squirrels must view the world around them. Do you think some trees are more aesthetically pleasing to them than others? Like are one of the trees in the park the Taj Mahal of trees that make all the other trees look like a Super 8 motel?
  6. I realized I only like watching certain shows with you. I started watching them alone, but I kept turning to my left too much.
  7. You’ll never believe what Lena told me about Kreuler.
  8. Well, wait wait wait I should probably tell you about what we did last Saturday first.
  9. We went paint balling and Lena said she caught Kreuler making out with some chick behind the second set of tires near the middle of the arena. Remember when I was some chick who you made out with behind the second set of tires near the middle of the arena?
  10. I like myself a lot more since knowing you.
  11. I think about that one joke you made up and try and create similar ones because, maybe, one day I’ll share one with you and you’ll laugh just as hard as I did.
  12. I don’t think I got around to telling you (because I was probably scared) how smart and beautiful you made me feel. Thanks for that. You’ll always be the one that gave me that gift.
  13. I wonder if I made you feel smart and handsome. Did I?
  14. How’s basketball season going? I’ve been meaning to ask if you won your game last week.
  15. My room is still a mess. Are you surprised?
  16. I used your orange scented dandruff shampoo and I’m totally hooked.
  17. I’m not going to tell you any of this. I mean, I will…but I’ll probably hide behind fiction to do it.

Yes, I cried when I wrote this, and yes-it’s about you Sean.

People always find it strange how I remember certain things. Like how I remember the first time I saw you, and knew you were special and going to be important to me, and how I was right. You remember it differently, but I don’t mind, not at all, not even a little bit, because not everyone thinks the way I do. Most of all not you. We are the same in all the ways you claim, but there’s no denying we’re also the opposite. People have looked at us, noting our physical differences first, our opinions and politics second, and carefully cocked their head to the side as they asked the question, “How are you two even friends?”

The truth is, even I’m not entirely sure why. But, I know it has something to do with what we’ve learned from each other. You are always surprised by me and my stories, but I’m always continually surprised by you too. We feed each other that way. Through each others stories. Through the experiences we share with each other and the experiences we’ve had together.

I could bring up many of the nights I held your feet as you drunkenly squirmed into bed, or I could mention how many of my nights you lit up with fancy cocktails and dancing in dive bars. I could also say how proud I am of you, how lucky I am that you decided, somewhere along the line, that I was special and important too. I could even say that our very public arguments over business and politics didn’t make me mad but made me feel the most me I ever felt, or how our talks about the sad and the hard parts of our lives always made me happy. Because you always knew what to say-even if I yelled at you, and even if I pretended you were wrong.

I could, but I won’t because I’ll get too emotional and cry. You always bring up how much I cry. You tell everyone about the time I cried when I saw a small child embracing a small dinosaur, and still to this day don’t understand it. But you understand the part of me that brought me to those tears, and that’s all that really matters.

You won’t be able to call me to pick you up from a suspicious location anymore and then ask me get you chicken. But, you can still call me, and I will pick up, because I will miss you and will want to hear your voice. Because yours is the voice that brings me comfort and anger simultaneously, laughter and tears, and everything in between.

So, I’ll tell you again. You are special and important to me. I still don’t know all the reasons why, but that’s why you have to stick around, so we can figure it out-even if it takes the rest of our lives. Or, at least until you learn how to hem your own pants.


Tough Stuff

The patriarch is made up of motorcycle parts,

old and new batteries, black jeans and black t-shirts

He is where the echo of the family starts,

sewing each of our voices together in concert


Made up of the tough stuff of a turtle’s shell,

a fedora shaped crown, tomato’s blood, and radio wavelengths,

He is the magic one that rises from the ashes atop the citadel-

a reminder: where there is love there is strength


Our patriarch is made up of the worlds ancestors-

both plant and animal, both alien and human

He is our King, but wears the clothes of a Jester

He is the reason we hear the melody of life’s music

and dance to the rhythm of a family blooming