Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Coast Highway

You are avocados and cheese, you are gnarly head wine, you are in every visit I pay to the beach, Atlantic and Pacific. You are schwinn and trek bicycles. You are a 27 foot Catalina, in fact all sailboats embody a bit of you. You are hands that tell a story, and sushi nights. You are late night walks over bridges and fairy tales. You are americana and two shots of espresso, green tea no sugar or water added. You are love that gives his last cookies to his girl. You are hippie tree in the shade of purple. You are butterflies and sailboat rides. You are poetry and all the pebbles of Trestles. You are wildflowers and daisies. You are foot spray and harbor walks. You are "stop and smell the flowers." You are old toyota mini vans and skateboards. You are in every wave I see and all the paths that lead to them. You are the sand that sticks to my flesh and the salt I taste on my lips. You are back packs and organic fruits. You are beautiful tears and late night lullabies. You are red wine and french fries. You are strawberry milkshakes and MY missing symbiosis. You are warm brown plaid sheets and hatch open kind of nights. You are the hand i'm missing, and the smile I fiercely love. You cheeks....You know. You are elves and star dust. You are the buttermilks and the Happys. You are stoned in a hot tub, floating. You are the laugh after the fat lady calls me gross. You are a bagel and orange juice. You are in every chocolate cake from Carl's Jr. You are cute feet in the bathroom stall. You are Coast Highway and I will always be driving to you...Driving to you...

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

When I write...

....when I write, I write to you...

Her/story...his/story

I remember being in the court house wedding room, holding his hand, him looking back at me...blue eyes. I could always tell when something meant anything to him, but this moment, he was feeling it for the promises we were making to one another. He was loving me and loving us and who were were meant to be together.....
             .....A picture, this picture. Means nothing to you, but it's a feeling to me. It is a moment in my life that capitalized on a time in my life, on the feeling of where I was, what I was going through and the pain and confusion I felt then. I remember looking down at my running shoes, I remember the rain drops on the pavement, and the lights from the passing cars along the beach boulevard and the flickering of the lights from the pier, behind me. I remember seeing a fire, and two lovers, old, holding hands, sitting in the dark, in their beach chairs. In love?  are we ever in love, truly? always? or are there moments that seem perfect to us, and at that moment, nowhere else we'd rather be with nobody else, could we hold hands with? I ran until I was out of breath, I ran until i felt the sting of life, take its toll on my lungs that were gasping for more air from this cruel world. It is a sad world, one where we hurt the ones we love and hold on past the point of no return. We pretend that there were moments so beautiful that they are worth the pain, and the fear. We say that the kiss on the bridge meant something. That when hands are grasping onto someone so tight, that they are saving us. That his eyes were bright because of me, that he looked at me as if I was the only girl in the world…because he was so in love…how awful I am to believe that it was real. How sad it makes me feel to know that I once thought those feelings, so true. If i could be bleeding on the beach, bleeding out our life, how could he surf the waves so effortlessly? Never looking on shore to where his love lay, dying inside, and showing it on the outside. lost in a haze of medication and anguish. The sun was so hot that day, but it didn't matter to me if my skin burnt to dust, I was dying inside, and that night, pieces of myself left with a small heart. Somehow I still lie there holding onto him, wanting his love. He lay asleep unaware or just didn't care, to know I was a shaking mess in the hands of a dirty world, in the bathroom of a cheap hotel, bare feet on a cold floor. Unaware of the damage about to begin….Never ends

San Juan


it was wild, our time together was wild. The heat of California's dry summer, San Juan Capistrano and your white t-shirt. You wouldn't let my hand go, why'd you let it go? And seemingly it's all my fault, sometimes I break down because it's "my fault" sometimes I can't get out of bed because it was all my fault. How was I supposed to drive back to the chaos as if it was going to all be ok? And now it's my fault all over again. I can't bare to think of you broken and lonely. It hurts my heart, you might not believe it, but it destroys my happiness in the moments I think of you letting go…finally letting go…Were we ever supposed to let go?  Sometimes I go about my life as if I'm always going home to you, as if you are waiting at home for me.  Home? Home???? Is there such thing alone, without you? I'm without you. We broke our marriage, we broke our promises…So what does it mean to you now when I promise to you that I'm sorry? What does it mean to both of us when we say we miss each other? What does it mean when we both say, this time…it would be ok? It was wild, our time together was wild. My hand was always in yours, and your lips always my home.