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.