Success in the form of rain drops--- no, a hail storm, like magic or the overwhelming desire to eat once you realized how long you have holed up in your room hoping that tomorrow you will not wake up in tears or maybe just to wake up and remember you can feel someone else's shoulder, and that's a really good feeling. A lot of feelings are good and even the ones that feel bad are still good feelings. I was pouring through spanish journals and crying over darknesses and missed opportunities in Germany with the sun crying on my face, insisting that I cheer the frick up, and I just kept reading, deep into the story I wrote about the time Adrian had to be taken to the hospital during the 311 concert and how I realized how I trap these men into missing me instead of letting them miss me and how many postcards I kept to not write on and notes on American literary masters and on and on and on into the depths of the colorful version of me. In the back were trapped notes about the time you went to the hospital in an ambulance you never should have taken and how they called you by a name that is only partially yours and the tears that poured were from surprise mostly, forgetting that I felt like that reading someone's open heart and especially yours at the time. Disconnections are funny in a particular way, like how somebody smells after they get to your house and you know that they thought too much about something small the whole drive over and you don't want to talk about it, or don't know how to bring it up. Something beautiful happened in the lines you didn't write, that I would come to fill in over time, and that is how darkness is a song between two broken hearts and that you taught me how to tell the truth. There is nothing sad or lonesome right now and nothing to complain about or cry over. Sometimes I just do those things because I can't handle too many highs, feeling like traps, or trapped into feeling guilty just because I'm not over the top happy to match all those times that I am. It's not something people are sure of or can do anything about, like how I can't describe the pain running along the back of my thighs because I finally ran as far as I possibly could while laying down. The thing about me is that I am afraid when I'm not moving that I will not end up anywhere else even though I know I am doing just fine. I can't continue to share everytime people are thought of because of something i see because I am like Julie's Stephen, and I am the boy in Santa Cruz, and I am holding onto hearts because I am cruel. And I am apologizing to God and I am running in circles, drawing infinity, sweat dripping from a dog's hot tongue, tied up in something inexplicable but not NOT comprehensible. I am softer somedays, when I am wrapped up quietly in you. I am soft in your shoulder, soft waking up to the sound of your ambition, forward and older and singing lullabies with you.

Waking up with nothing to do and feeling like that's all right. These are the gifts of my life.

Something less than impressive.

Shame on them if they can't understand ya, or if they bother trying too hard when everybody smart knows that's never been the real point. Real silence is sometimes most favorable in uncomfortable climates. Broken down about three blocks from here, I raised my hands to the sky and laughed at these ugly birds flying in a V shape because I remember being small on a wooden playground doing the same thing at the same ugly birds and that phrase "flying V" because that is simply what was going on. Now, going on, I am rolling along like I would on train tracks if I were a train or like after breadcrumbs if I were those kids in that story or maybe desperate enough as a regular person in their twenties like anyone else. It's not easy, you know. I have been trying to tell people this. Being in my twenties doesn't make me feel much different from being in my anythingelses. I just want to wake up and do things and not think about things that need to be done later- it's not in my nature to plan my life. It's in my nature to love life, to love it for what it is and as I see it, naked and glorious and primal and sensitive and moving... but I'm about as sure now as I was five or fifteen years ago what I want to be when I grow up because I still think I pretty much like my life as it is, I'll take it as it comes or pull away when I don't like it. I feel like I am doing all right. I feel like I am tired of questions, of certain brands of people who are against my truth's encouragement because I just want to do these things I like to do and not feel too much like there is much more I need to do. I would like to write and have nobody bother me about it. I would like to believe in God and not feel like anybody needs me to go to church to prove it. I want to sit on my butt and do my laundry and sing along to bad music and cry when I'm sad or just overwhelmed and feel like this is enough or at least kind of enough or at least kind of something more or less less than too much to handle. I am sitting here feeling better because at least you know this is how I feel, even if you can't understand it or respect it but at least I told you or tried to. I don't know what I was trying to say. Just that I feel better for saying something. I don't know. Give me a break, all right? I'm just letting you know.