everything about me hurts today. my ego, my happiness, my legs, my feet, my back, my head, and my heart.
i still think about you, all of you, on cold winter nights and i know i'm never really alone when you guys are still existing.
xoxo, No Volume, Jac.
I think we know each other a lot better than we give ourselves credit for.
We're so the same and so different.
We're all the same people in different places and different times.
Nobody's ever had me penned quite as well as you.
Thank you for keeping me company when I'm lonely.
Thank you for letting me know I'm not the only one.
In our own little corner of the universe we're invincible.
You give me something to think about and something to remember.
You have the words just right.
Better than I could ever get them, anyway.
Maybe I'm just the outsider looking in, but thank you for giving me something to see.
Love always,
Ali
We're so the same and so different.
We're all the same people in different places and different times.
Nobody's ever had me penned quite as well as you.
Thank you for keeping me company when I'm lonely.
Thank you for letting me know I'm not the only one.
In our own little corner of the universe we're invincible.
You give me something to think about and something to remember.
You have the words just right.
Better than I could ever get them, anyway.
Maybe I'm just the outsider looking in, but thank you for giving me something to see.
Love always,
Ali
Birthday Girl (for Jac)
For Jac on her birthday.
I want to write of crowded rooms and Tipsy-Talkers and how his
hands felt on her waist.
How the dress clung to her in all the right ways.
"The way he looked at her was like no other."
Like she caused the sun to rise.
She sipped Shirley Temples and custom mixes of fruit and Sprite.
"Kiss Her, Kiss Her" they called it.
His hand on her waist.
Fingers against the delicate purple fabric of her dress.
"Her smile was like no other."
Eyes like melted chocolate.
Always sweet on you.
Princess, they called her.
Even if she doesn't own the crown.
Kiss her, kiss her.
His mouth on hers.
A smile and flash of Bright White Teeth.
She's in the Spotlight
Only she never wished for it to be that way
(surprise, surprise).
Even if it is her day.
Hey, Birthday Girl.
Smile.
I want to write of crowded rooms and Tipsy-Talkers and how his
hands felt on her waist.
How the dress clung to her in all the right ways.
"The way he looked at her was like no other."
Like she caused the sun to rise.
She sipped Shirley Temples and custom mixes of fruit and Sprite.
"Kiss Her, Kiss Her" they called it.
His hand on her waist.
Fingers against the delicate purple fabric of her dress.
"Her smile was like no other."
Eyes like melted chocolate.
Always sweet on you.
Princess, they called her.
Even if she doesn't own the crown.
Kiss her, kiss her.
His mouth on hers.
A smile and flash of Bright White Teeth.
She's in the Spotlight
Only she never wished for it to be that way
(surprise, surprise).
Even if it is her day.
Hey, Birthday Girl.
Smile.
I miss you even if I don't know who you are.
I miss your face and your voice and your smile and you.
I miss your everything.
I miss everything you are and ever were and I miss
every single thing you have never, ever been.
I miss you because I don't know you,
or maybe I miss you because I know--knew-- you so well.
Imissyoumissyou.
I feel empty without you, even if we have not met
because there's the gap that you will need to fill; the
gap that will be there when you are gone.
I miss the way you made me feel, the ways you will
make me feel.
I long for your touch, your presence.
I miss you and me, even if we have never had a chance to happen.
I'll miss you when we have happened.
In the end it seems that I'm forever missing you.
I was really into Neruda when I wrote this. Don't know if it shows, but I was.
I miss your face and your voice and your smile and you.
I miss your everything.
I miss everything you are and ever were and I miss
every single thing you have never, ever been.
I miss you because I don't know you,
or maybe I miss you because I know--knew-- you so well.
Imissyoumissyou.
I feel empty without you, even if we have not met
because there's the gap that you will need to fill; the
gap that will be there when you are gone.
I miss the way you made me feel, the ways you will
make me feel.
I long for your touch, your presence.
I miss you and me, even if we have never had a chance to happen.
I'll miss you when we have happened.
In the end it seems that I'm forever missing you.
I was really into Neruda when I wrote this. Don't know if it shows, but I was.
Just to show off my cursive. (For Jac)
Relishing my last (late) nights of freedom.
A best friend taught me to never sleep.
Always said it was for the weak.
I don't sleep much because I don't want to miss out.
I hold hands with insomnia, anyway.
With all the time we spend together we're practically engaged.
Only practically.
3:40 AM
I like hearing the crickets outside my window; they remind me I'm home.
I like 3 AM because everyone is asleep beside(s) me.
The light posts are on and the street is quiet.
A rush of salt and ocean breeze.
East coast nights.
Seagulls are napping but it's playtime for cats and gators.
Used up pens and ink-stained hands.
I'm working on perfecting the art of my 3:30 scrawl.
It's mostly loops and curves.
Slurred the alphabet.
For someone who loves nighttime, you'd think I'd be a little less afraid of the dark.
Remind me:
I've got the stars to lead me home.
3:47 AM
2 AM is when bar-goers and harlots lurk.
I'm not sure how I'd do in New York if it's the city that never sleeps.
Someone is always on the prowl.
4 o'clock loses the magic of three; it's for the Early Birds, not the Night Owls.3 in the morning is the purgatory between party goers and early risers.
It's my home.
A best friend taught me to never sleep.
Always said it was for the weak.
I don't sleep much because I don't want to miss out.
I hold hands with insomnia, anyway.
With all the time we spend together we're practically engaged.
Only practically.
3:40 AM
I like hearing the crickets outside my window; they remind me I'm home.
I like 3 AM because everyone is asleep beside(s) me.
The light posts are on and the street is quiet.
A rush of salt and ocean breeze.
East coast nights.
Seagulls are napping but it's playtime for cats and gators.
Used up pens and ink-stained hands.
I'm working on perfecting the art of my 3:30 scrawl.
It's mostly loops and curves.
Slurred the alphabet.
For someone who loves nighttime, you'd think I'd be a little less afraid of the dark.
Remind me:
I've got the stars to lead me home.
3:47 AM
2 AM is when bar-goers and harlots lurk.
I'm not sure how I'd do in New York if it's the city that never sleeps.
Someone is always on the prowl.
4 o'clock loses the magic of three; it's for the Early Birds, not the Night Owls.3 in the morning is the purgatory between party goers and early risers.
It's my home.
I don't know what makes me think sitting in front of a computer screen and typing in Courier font is going to solve my problems.
I don't know what makes me think sleeping a minimum of three hours a night is okay.
I don't know what makes me think that running on solely caffeine and a half hour of sleep is okay.
I don't know what makes me think I can sit here and dump all this out, expecting someone to pick up on it and actually care.
I wish there was a facsimile of my brain, my thoughts... So I could see what exactly is going on.
what do you do when you're finally faced with reality? i used to run and hide ..
now i don't know what to do.
I don't know what makes me think sleeping a minimum of three hours a night is okay.
I don't know what makes me think that running on solely caffeine and a half hour of sleep is okay.
I don't know what makes me think I can sit here and dump all this out, expecting someone to pick up on it and actually care.
I wish there was a facsimile of my brain, my thoughts... So I could see what exactly is going on.
what do you do when you're finally faced with reality? i used to run and hide ..
now i don't know what to do.
I want to be one of those people that takes chances. One of those people that everyone likes. One of those people who everyone knows their name. I want to be brilliant. I want to be amazing. I want to be happy. I don't want to waste my life thinking 'What if...', I want to be wasting my life thinking 'Now I know'. My mind is like a kaleidoscope. As haphazard and mismatched as it may be, it is mathematical and beautiful.
It is the vast fragility of the universe that oh-so-willingly crumbles beneath your gaze.
…My universe.
And I can’t remember the last time I felt the things you make me feel.
Light and airy. Careless Carefree
The arches of your eyebrows. The angles of your jaw. The pools of your eyes. They all encompass me in a way unimaginable.
I write from places you’ve never been. In words you haven’t seen. And I’m wishing you’ll catch me before I fall so far I can’t come back anymore.
I’ve never wanted help. Or to be understood. Just to know you, and you know me.
But I feel like I carry with myself too much baggage for even the largest cargo plane to carry, so why should you?
And now it seems to have come to the point where either I get lighter or you get stronger.
Or we both meet at some undefined point between the two ends to become a whole.
…My universe.
And I can’t remember the last time I felt the things you make me feel.
Light and airy. Careless Carefree
The arches of your eyebrows. The angles of your jaw. The pools of your eyes. They all encompass me in a way unimaginable.
I write from places you’ve never been. In words you haven’t seen. And I’m wishing you’ll catch me before I fall so far I can’t come back anymore.
I’ve never wanted help. Or to be understood. Just to know you, and you know me.
But I feel like I carry with myself too much baggage for even the largest cargo plane to carry, so why should you?
And now it seems to have come to the point where either I get lighter or you get stronger.
Or we both meet at some undefined point between the two ends to become a whole.
Remembrance is the best trick man has.
I just want to be able to remember again.
I’ve played the tapes in my memory way too many times.
I want to remember, but I don’t quite know now.
Faint memories of lips touching; the barest traces of your fingertips to my hip.
The way your eyes gleamed and twinkled in the soft light of a cheap gas station lighter’s flame when all else around us was darkness.
I want to hate every last memory. And I do this with a sort of frantic desparation. I don’t know why I choose to hate them. It feels better than getting hung up on every last second of every last memory of us together.
It feels a lot better to quit.
This makes me wonder. Are you thinking of me? Are you, somewhere, somehow, reading all I have to say to you? My feelings strewn about on forgotten pages written in messy cursive?
Are you thinking of me?
I’ve played the tapes in my memory way too many times.
I want to remember, but I don’t quite know now.
Faint memories of lips touching; the barest traces of your fingertips to my hip.
The way your eyes gleamed and twinkled in the soft light of a cheap gas station lighter’s flame when all else around us was darkness.
I want to hate every last memory. And I do this with a sort of frantic desparation. I don’t know why I choose to hate them. It feels better than getting hung up on every last second of every last memory of us together.
It feels a lot better to quit.
This makes me wonder. Are you thinking of me? Are you, somewhere, somehow, reading all I have to say to you? My feelings strewn about on forgotten pages written in messy cursive?
Are you thinking of me?
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