For Mr. James Bernal...

After reading your lovely comment, I immediately went outside and took a photo of the trees on 3rd ave, to remind you of this place. When you return, I promise you a glass of wine, a cigarette and stories underneath the shade of our trees. 

Sleepy eyes, seaside (mis)adventures, trashy/sassy hotel parties.

Because the comment space isn't enough...

Public forums for private things make me uncomfortable. 

I don't sing in front of everyone and I rarely answer my phone. 

Beyond the exes and rare exceptions, yours is the only hand I hold. 

I am sincere when we sit on my bed and listen to the words I wish I'd written. 

I love them as my own family because they are a part of you. 

Epic things: our first neighborhood (1) moment, the birth of Cagney, $1.50 bottles of wine.

I struggle with expectations and proving myself. I try. Is that enough? 

You know, better than most, what a struggle it is for me to be myself...but I most closely resemble that girl around you. 

I am sorry. 

Vain?

Waldo Sunday.

Goffee and flea-market. David Lynch would be proud. 

Sunday.

I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night 
And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight
I want a Sunday kind of love oh yeah

I want a love that's on the square
Can't seem to find somebody someone to care
And I'm on a lonely road that leads to nowhere 
I need a Sunday kind of love

I do all my Sunday dreaming
And all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day
And I'm hopin' to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way
And my arms need someone to enfold 
To help keep me warm 
When Mondays, and Tuesdays grow cold
And I need a love for all my life
To have and to hold
I need a Sunday kind of love

I do all my Sunday dreaming
And all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day
And I'm hopin' to discover
A certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way
And my arms need someone to enfold 
To help keep me warm 
When Mondays, and Tuesdays grow cold
And I need a love for all my life
To have and to hold
I need a Sunday kind of love

I don't want a Monday or a Tuesday
A Wednesday or a Thursday
Friday or Saturday
I don't want nothin' baby
I want a Sunday kind of love

Longs for a neighborhood cafe to stroll to.

Hand-in-hand. 

Red wine, lots of it. Isn't that how it always goes? 

Sitting in a corner table, putting my feet up like I always do. I hope it doesn't make anyone uncomfortable. 

Warm food, hot topics. 

Unembarrassed silence. 

Let's sit for hours and plan, even if those plans never see the sun. 

I would like to close the place down and wander the streets. 

There are other things I would like to say but another time, perhaps...

Pensacola.

Did not take any pictures during our stay; thankfully, Rin managed to capture some good ones...Miss Belle certainly takes a good photograph. 

Too good not to promptly post...

Finally! A photograph of Lucier smiling sincerely. 

Death of a Salesman.

I share this because it too seems appropriate. 

"I run out of that building and I see...the sky. I see all the things I love in this world. The work, the food, the time to sit and smoke. And I look at this pen and I ask myself, "What the hell am I grabbing this thing for? Why am I trying to become something I don't wanna become when all I want is out there waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am?" 

To my life partner and fellow dreamer...

My dear, 

I am writing you a public love-letter because I think it might make you smile. I was never one to believe in love at first sight but after the fateful day of our "first" meeting, I think it just might be possible. Ms. Johnson, as worthless as she was, was the fated architect of much of my future happiness. As you awkwardly walked over to my table, I instantly recognized your face as the girl who got sent to Catholic school for kissing boys outside of our elementary school. Proud of you. 

You asked for my phone number that very period...you were always very brave that way. You actually called (unlike many of the men who have floated in and out of our lives these last 7 years.) Instantly inseparable. 

We've struggled over silliness. Recently, as I shared the mythology of our friendship, I recounted the story of those last months of high school and how our love matured into this unconditional force to be reckoned with. I am fiercely protective of you and you are the only person that knows exactly what I need to hear...I will never forget you researching flights just because you wanted to hold my hand. 

You are my favorite traveling companion and my most enthusiastic audience. Many of my favorite memories involve you; as for those that don't, you are the first person I want to share them with.

We both are so desperately trying to understand love, constantly trying to reconcile good sense with letting go, being romantic without being impractical. I feel spontaneous when I am with you and I think you understand my need for order in chaos...at least more than most are willing to.  You have taught me a lot about following my heart and doing the unthinkable (for a Capricorn like me) for love...

You would never make fun of my turquoise toes or love of old photographs. Your postcards decorate my room, truly the most pleasing art I have on my walls. 

I wait impatiently for the day when the stars align so that we can share our daily lives. The last 5 years of email communication and once-a-year marathon trips are simply not enough. We talk about our plans...let's translate them into reality. For the first time in quite awhile, we are not bound to anything but realizing our passions. 

I ask that you be as considerate with yourself as you are with me. 

Be patient and let yourself heal. 

Don't look back...you are FINALLY doing what is best for yourself. 

I love you deeply and cannot wait for the lavender farm. 

This is/may be relevant to some...

I can't close my eyes and make it go away. 

"My, but it seems I need a napkin."

"You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is." So says Bukowski. That hard-drinkin', ramblin' motherfuck has a damn good point. I so dearly love to laugh. 

Ohhhh, pretty.

Delicate, lovely papercuts by an artist named Elsita
Her etsy, if you are interested in looking at lovely things: http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5118597

Beautiful Duets, Part Deux.

Check mate.

Someone told me recently that "if everyone in Gainesville were chess pieces, you would be one of two queens." He doesn't know me very well but apparently I made some sort of impression. He went on to write that "The queen is the most important part of any strategy in a game and the best one in town is going to the worst weather in the country with the highest crime rate and bad smog and costly cigarettes but she can't be wrong in doing so because the best plans revolve around the queen." He was talking about my recent decision to up and move to Chicago and while I am both flattered and horrified by his honesty (misplaced, at best) his metaphor is strangely poignant. I cannot help but agree that life can resemble a chess board and the people in our lives, our decisions, our mistakes play out in a strategic match, albeit far bloodier than any fictitious war. I don't like to think of the people I love as "pawns" nor do I see a queen when I face the mirror, but I must admit that there is a fair bit of strategy involved in the business of making plans. I want to get away, starting comfortably fresh in a city that doesn't have a fucking clue about my mistakes. And maybe one day, the person I want to view me as some sort of queen will. 

Beautiful Duets, Part One.

Long for lazy Sunday's spent lounging in bed, watching old movies, making pancakes and dancing about the house to a marvelous soundtrack of Edith and Billie, the Talking Heads and some Dylan, for good measure.

Stream of unconsciousness.

Heartburn. 

Sundays, long and short. 

Music that captures things I am beginning to think I haven't felt...projecting? 

Swollen lips. 

Ready to move on. 

Heartbroken by porch exchanges that define relationships-OR-I love you, too. 

Longing for sweet snacks. Typed snakes. Thought of you. Shameful that you are associated with such things. 

Longing for green fields, picturing Rosi in the mist. 

Broke. 

Late night/early morning silliness.