Give me shivers. Write me music in minor keys. Sing to me. Call me yours. Blow on my ear, or just barely touch my neck. Simple, right? There’s more you can do! Speak a different language to me. Take me out of my comfort zone.
I’m gonna tell more about this later. Lost mah mojo.
I wore a size 10 blue dress dress to a “large-than-life” sized Ball. My flute spoke to me in more than music. He told me, no, commanded that I go with a certain saxophonist. No doubt, I was naïvely drawn to the boy like a moth sensing heat from the artificial sun. “Could you imagine dating him?" someone had said. I find myself forgetting what I said in response. I remember birthdays, long nights, invitations, firsts, lasts, in-betweens. I remember car rides, solos, duets, kisses, hugs, laughs. I remember quotes, plans, mistakes, fights. I remember stargazing, dancing, wrong turns. I remember Vader hoodies, Reef sandals, surf shirts. I remember fifteenths, sixths, and twenty-thirds. I remember blades of grass, kitchen corners, and lamps. I remember us. I will always remember you.
I will always remember “would you kindly…-," and "Unforgettable," and "-like a signature.”
I don’t need to remember Tiberius, because he’s always here.
I wanted to write about this forever, but everything has it’d ending, and soon will you. We together, in “us" might be over, but I’m gonna be thinking about it for a while…
I guess that’s what I am, A moth.
I will be that annoying panging on the light. I will be that ugly sister of the beautiful flutterby, mariposa, der Falter. I might always be panging; Just turn out the light.
“All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other’s soul and flesh; but there we were, unable even to mate as slum children would have so easily found an opportunity to do so.”—