Tag: emo
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8:14 (91)
Some odd months ago (September, gods–it was back in September, and I’m closer to the anniversary of it than I am to the actual moment), I sat down on a bench on the edge of the Boston Common next to a beautiful girl with enormous glasses and a troubled look on her face. She had…
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8:14 (90)
I think the main reason why I love the film Home For the Holidays so much is because it doesn’t really have much of a resolution. SPOILER ALERT I’ve been watching portions of it lately and I realize that, when you really think about it, not much really happens other than a group of people gather…
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confession
I’m not satisfied in any way, nor am I sure I ever will be. I’m neither contented, nor especially at ease. But I talked to one of my kids and maybe, just maybe, there’s the hope that I was to them what so many of my teachers and coaches and inspirational figures were to me,…
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8:14 (88)
There’s always that point at which you realize everything you’re doing needs to be as for yourself as possible, until it isn’t. I find myself dreaming of the touch of someone who, quite frankly, doesn’t exist. I’m not exaggerating when I say she’s exactly like Melanie–short, thin, off-white skin, cheekbones, the same kind of dueling…
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8:14 (87)
The worst part about this place isn’t the cold, or the snow, or the flatness, or the fact that there isn’t really any decent non-corporate chain food places to eat, or the fact that even the cool people here are so unbearably whitebread. The worst part about being in Iowa is how easily it is…
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8:14 (85)
I’ve had a couple different, separate moments of absolute contentment in the past week, for reasons I have yet to understand. That I had one of them on the birthday of one of my old high school classmates–fuck it–that I had one of them on Carmen’s birthday feels simultaneously fitting and criminal. To say that…
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8:14 (84)
The risk I always run when doing this to myself is making time pass by so quickly and so ineffectively that I forget to do the things that actually serve a purpose. Lost in schedules that would break me if I would care, throwing myself completely into problems that neither have solutions nor are, at…
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8:14 (83)
The worst thing about it all is the pain that has obscured the reality of her touch and smell and feel from my memory, the painful things that have popped up to get in the way of the rare, beautiful moments in which I didn’t want anything else, didn’t want for anything really, and her…
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8:14 (82)
The only thing that sticks out to me at a time like this is the feelings that sink in, soaking through my protective layers and getting at me where I’m most vulnerable. It’s not the initial sensation that lingers, or even the immediate emotional reaction usually satisfying some kind of superficial need; it’s the lingering…
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en el aire.
Sitting in the lobby at the gym, locked in an unintentional moment of self-reflection and assessment, the understanding that I have, in fact, done exactly what I was afraid I would do setting in with a resonant THUD, the same thing repeats again and again: “CHANGE. NOW.” Have to stop, yo.