Been in a real deep mood. Been in a real red wine and cigarettes mood. Been in a real stare at the wall for hours on end kind of mood. A real dark mood. Two feet on the ground and drifting hard. Two feet on the ground and far, far away from myself. A shadow of a person. Been in a smoke a cigarette inside the house kind of mood.
Wearing your shirt and it smells like you and your hair and your apartment. It smells sort of fleshy. It smells like your skin. I hate to wear it too much because your smell might go away. But, then again, it would make way for my smell. The smells of our skin could marry. We could get married.
You were on top of me this morning. Now I am alone in my apartment. Sort of uncomfortably alone. Like I need something to do with my hands. That cigarette I want would be something to do with my hands. I resist it. Wouldn’t it be a bitch to come out of quarantine with a broken heart and an addiction to cigarettes and red wine? If I could just come out with these words and this shirt of yours I think I would be doing okay.
I wonder what you think. Let me ask you – what do you think? How do you feel? Nearly two inseparable weeks together with nothing to do other than fixate on each other. Are you pleased? Wish anything had gone differently? The back of my neck is sore from sucking your cock. Do you love that? Will you come out of this with a broken heart and a full-blown addiction to something? Will you still think of me when all of this is said and done?
Yesterday was Easter and that seems impossible. You braided my hair and we drove up the shore. It was cloudy and I was sad. We stopped and watched the water rush down from the hillside and into the lake. You stood on a rock and spread your arms wide and I thought to myself that you deserve love. We ate peppers and hummus off of your center console and watched the waves move and time pass. I peed on the beach and fed the seagulls pretzels and you filmed it. I drank wine from a dirty jar and you had a dark beer from a metal cup. We smoked cigarettes. I asked you what you wanted to be doing next Easter – where you see yourself. Your response was lackluster and that is okay.
I’ll tell you where I want to be next Easter. I want to be far, far away from here. I want to be in the company of lighter thoughts. In a lighter mood. I want to be closer to myself next Easter. God help me. I want to be in your arms. I want to be alive! Do you hear me God? I SAID I WANT TO BE ALIVE.
When I sat down to write this I didn’t plan for it all to be so directed at you. I guess you’re really on my mind. God help you too.