Feel it in my bones

There was never a tomorrow to begin with, only ever the one moment at a time, one foot through one pant leg as the other one was already one foot out the door- but it was never a bad thing, really. It only feels bad these days, when thinking of how easy that would have been, to just sit down and say, hey what about this, just forever. And I don't think it would have made me happy the same way, but it would have made me. I think sometimes about my refusal to write, when I know I could take things seriously, but I am armed with hurtfulness. This is maybe my gift. I am still trying to figure out what it would mean to be gifted, just in general. Leslie is always saying that, "just in general" and its always applicable. I'm still searching for my catch phrase, feeling like it is more of a catch all of the things one doesn't want to bother saying, something for me like, I'm never going to be quite good enough so how about I just do as much as I can and worry about inadequacy and that way we never have to talk about how you aren't exactly ever giving me the credit i deserve. And this I mean just in general, not you or you or even YOU, but just for everybody kind of and I feel like I'm dissolving or disproving or disarming my mentors by making us all softer because quite honestly thats the world I would love to live in, always apologizing and hugging and maybe lots of crying and lots of warm soup all the time and happiness too of course, and trembling close to you and soft laughter, or no laughter just constant fake stories that crack us up after the joke has been over and I just don't know what the difference is really sometimes. You're far away now like the way I talk about my dad being drunk. It's funny how we remember things and funny how I have a hard time remembering anything at all. Sometimes I just miss coming home to the sound of Matt screaming old cowboy music and how soft it felt to have a sort of brother and how even in the lonely moments I was not very lonely in that house, ever. Me and the cats and the cockroaches and our Matthew and it was like a real family abandoned by our psychologically upset mother who is really just another girl our age who wears very nice dresses and I love that heart, the heart in that home and those memories and all our visitors and especially one or two very important visitors and the cold cold air that killed Steve's snake and nailing blankets across doorways without doors and the way it sounded when I remember living quietly. I'm happy now or something closer to it. I am thinking of this and thinking of making good food and thinking of being someone's mother without having to take care of anyone or much of anything at all. I want you to know that no matter how much it doesn't seem like it, i'm always up to something, always writing something, always carving poems into the sand that you won't pay attention to and I am always filling my pockets up with rocks and I am always going to love the way it sounds when I am close to the ocean, asking for waves and depth and the promise that tomorrow sure as hell won't be any easier if it comes at all. I just wanted to say that in the morning when the sunlight crept through flimsy haunted windows, there was you and me becoming something before I ever met you, long before you came to California, long before I creeped your livejournal or watched your fingers dance along guitar strings, long before your hair grew longer, long before leaning on tree stumps in the backwoods of a Lawrenceville I'd never been to before you, long before you figured out that this wasn't about anyone in particular, it was just me, a little girl version of the same girl now, crossing her fingers and walking across the street to see if her friend was playing dead or really was dead, wondering why I could never be so brave. A flair for the dramatics and a kiss on the cheek. Just tuck me in. I'm tired now...