aside

you are the henry rollins to my joe cole. and only you will really understand that.

we’re adults now. right? yes. adults. but sometimes it still seems strange to me that you will not be here in the afternoons. that we will not make veggie dogs and then go out to the carport to practice our ollies.

you know that i am not a regressive person. i like to pick up and move on. but every day with you was a dance party. every night was a good night to sneak into each other’s rooms for a sleep over.

all of my friends are in love with you. partially because you appeal to art girls and social work fags, but also because i say your name with a silent ‘yay!’ beside it. i might not let anyone see those pictures of you in the captain’s hat - or my friends might forget that i even exist.

i have this vision of us being old. living in a small house. with a small yard. i live in the basement with a tall, dark haired man who has green eyes. you live upstairs with a woman who makes beautiful things with her hands. we eat dinners together, and sometimes i still sing. there is music in every room.

sometimes i forget to talk to you. maybe because i assume that you already know what i am thinking. but we have been apart a lot in the last few years. my head has gone to some strange places, despite how sedentary my body has been. when i can, i will tell you things. and when you can, ask me things. and i will keep saying your name with a silent ‘yay!’.