A thing to die for

What is a thing to die for?
Is it large or small?
Is it sturdy or delicate?
Can you sell it?

I can imagine the things I would die for.
They're multi-faceted.
Sometimes I like to think that they are small enough to hide beneath my thumb.
What I fail to realize is that they are hiding me.

What is a thing to die for?
Is it cheap or expensive?
Is it tangible or existential?
Can you taste it?

I sometimes imagine having the things I would die for.
They're massive.
Sometimes I write poems about them in order to carry them with me.
What I fail to realize is how they smear like ink that hasn't dried.

What is a thing to die for?
Is it sweet or bitter?
Is it trivial or important?
Can you justify it?

I sometimes imagine having the things I would die for. 

Skyline Borders

Skyline borders outline my horizon

They puncture the sun so that the light is distorted

My eyes grew acclimated to blindness. 

I was always able to see. 

But one time I went down to Chesapeake. 

To see my cousins. They're eyes seemed lighter

as if the sunlight kissed their irises. 

And while they walked the beachfront, I ambled 

Unsure of where the ground laid before me. 

I wondered if perhaps I was blind. 

But then when I turned west, I saw the mountainside

pierce the sun so that the light is distorted. 

I like to think West Virginia has no skyscrapers

because nature already provided them their skyline border. 

When I returned to my skyline border, my eyes panicked 

only for a second, until artificial light saved it from blindness. 

I was snug in my steely cage, waiting for a distorted sun to set.

Finally, I can see. 

Deliverance

Till now my child you've thought that might is right
And though you fight the tears of tainted youth
Please march, steadfast, and tread beyond that plight
To'a place where you might find a purer truth
Shout loud! Dear child do not forsake your past
Though demons gnawed your ankles as you walked
Shake free your legs as one shakes free their caste
Don't flinch or wince, give not a single balk
Fight back! Dear child, your time is growing near
Where truth will cede, while man disrupts nice dreams
Where heathens cry and angels dry their tears
Your job, dear child, is to go mend the seams
From devil's mouth and God's eternal might
Deliver child these men through day and night 

I want you to be, happy too, so I'll play the fool
For a time, perhaps a moment or two.
I know you're kind,  I was too
But we were too young to honestly choose.
And now I realize, One more time, I'd like to lose.

I'll lose this time, this time, I'll lose
I'll lose this time, this time, I'll lose.
And you know, it'll all be for you.

There were cute moments weren't there?
There were funny times we'd only share.
When you say you don't really care.
I just think you're trying to spare
Me of the what could have beens that were there.

I'll lose this time, this time, I'll lose
I'll lose this time, this time, I'll lose
And you know, it'll all be for you.

I remember cheese cake slices.
I can remember Italian ices.
Even before we were in crisis.
As we dealt with mounting gas prices
Living on a diet of honey and mixed rices
Waking to your smile was always the nicest
Thing that filled my writing with poetic license

I'll lose this time, this time, I'll lose
I'll lose time, this time, I'll lose
And you know, it'll all be for you

I regret nothing I ever gave
And even though these words just serve to stave
the dying light of your love that I hope will rave
But alas, I was stubborn, impossible to save.
A poor young fool, a broken naive.
Who only wanted to just pave.
The new world with you, the growing wave.
That'll sweep all our sadness away.

I lose this time, this time, I lose.
I lose this time. This time I lose
And you it is all because of you.

Getting up from bed

I know that somewhere there's the fingerlings waiting for my parched pores
They are shriveled and irritated with each attempt I make at using my own oils to moisturize them
Sometimes you need to dip your naked body in the remnants of a lake
Wait in them as nature dwindles their elevated state
I get more air, but my skin becomes arid with each foot shaved off.
By the time you find my body, I'm scabby and drowned.
Eyes closed as if heaven were merely constant replays of my dreams
My limbs are laid strewn on the silt, imprinting my figure into the basin.
Sometimes my lover sleeps in the imprint so that she may cuddle with me once more
Who is my lover?
Crustaceans who have feasted upon my flesh.
Vegetation that is preparing my particular finger for a valley.
And my first threesome, the sun and the moon who take turns illuminating my presence.
I do not hold a silent smile at death
No one has the muscle memory to smile at death.
Instead bugs canvas my insides and create subtle fascics that fool even the most cunning of mountain lions
Even animals do not eat the possessed
I remain there till finally a Lazarus like state strikes me like a misappropriated whimsy
I get up only to find myself fall apart with each step.
The bugs scurry out of my two entrances
And from there on I took three more steps
On the third step my delicate legs burst into debris.
The upper half of my body is dragged by first my fingers
Then my wrists
Finally my chin and chest.
A whimsical breeze blows away my face, completing the latest artistic installment I had to complete.

Transfiguration

Break the form for a minute. I think you'll find that the images will come to you in fragmentation
You ain't looking at this shit in a pixelated view. This shit is in 4-d to the point that if you tried touching the lyrics, they'd burn your skin and leave you branded. There'd only be initials of the specter who watches over me as I chirp. I'm one of the naive animals singing along with Snow White. Too bad she's singing an ode to every single man who has turned this earth into a perpetual hearse. Drowned in small bits of branches that are still lying astray from the ravage of winter. Spring flowers embroider around them in an effort to get them to conform. The worms slowly biodegrade the refuse of winter. I eat those worms. A second degree murderer in every sense of the term. People hold me in high regard for absolutely no reason. All of this is a regurgitated process but I'm not giving any of it to my children. Instead I keep them close to my breast, afraid that the stench is going to keep anyone from ever getting it. I suppose this has gone on long enough, I'm not a bird, I'm a bear. Sauntering around the hunting grounds with a serene frame of mind. Ragged mug and bearing teeth whenever I get the chance to do so. Hunting grounds are like zoos with an internal exhibit. In a few minutes I'll have a different attitude concerning the nature of hunting grounds. Buckshot shouldn't be used to shoot bears, so why I am bleeding from multiple entry points? I roar. I roar. I roar. I bleed. I bleed. bleed... Birds watch as I run in a frenzy, wondering how I might rid myself of this pain. "Be merciful," I can hear a young lad of 8 yell out to his pa. The man's man father spat out some phlegm and loaded up his rifle, hoping to put me out of my misery. The specter who watches over me is not satisfied so she turned me into wolf. Wolves hunt in packs, but love individually. The others can tell I'm not normal. They treat me like I'm Balto, a fucking coon who can't do anything but help their murderer. But you gotta understand in a past life, I was a bear and they nearly murdered me! Or perhaps they did. I chose fear over revenge. Foolish cub, listen up. I'm the specter who keeps you working./ I'm the one who keeps you going./ A god of sorts, but I'm not loving./ Instead I want to see you keep on tugging/ on the edges of the form, but don't rhyme like me. Instead you need to find us some peace.

Well fuck it. Destiny confirmed. I guess I'll go back to being a bird. 

Supernova

Supernova, burning bright

There is no end to your great light 

In sight, your might, illuminates night 

And though I look away, it's hard to fight

The plight, it smites, my wrongs and rights 

so that I may indulge in sacred flight

from sights of every width and height 

Please do not loosen, hold on tight

Your warmth, as loose as an errant kite 

Yet I feel before you reach my sight

Your thermal presence fills me with fright 

Behold, you free fungi from their blight

And yet people try to emulate your state

Their blunders and scorched earth, all mistakes 

I fear they will think you can be replaced 

To recreate god's mysteries is a fool's fate. 

And I guess I am the fool tonight

for your majestic presence did beknight 

upon me, an oath, perhaps a sacred right 

With you, I am golden, alone, a mite 

Supernova, burning bright 

I know an end to your light 

With might, through night, remain in my sight

I won't look away during your final fight. 

Ellipses

Ya know it doesn't matter how many times you say it doesn't matter
because if you're wasting your time talking about it, then it clearly does.
Still, I like the sound of the needle ripping across the vinyl.
Its glossy surface can sometimes reflect my face
and you are the needle that's scribbling all over it.
But that's how music is made and we don't think one bit about the violence.
Even I can't feel what isn't being done to me.
Your needle is weathered, with a sharp edge that stings at first touch
but eventually smooths out like the needle of a tattoo artist.
Instead of my sigil you brand me with an ellipses in swift staccato strokes
Each time reintroduces the needle to my skin, giving reprieve with each period being completed
I bleed so that infinity may be captured. Or perhaps it's just a moment.
Nobody knows what ellipses signify. They're the Schrodinger's cat of punctuation.
But sometimes I like to imagine. So I use my ellipses as full moons.
My ellipses can sometimes be pendulums in stasis.
Or perhaps they are tree stumps, freshly murdered, bearing their age for all to see.
Do not mistake this exercise for idolatry. I did not want to learn quantum physics.
You hold my ellipses over me and I just want the entire thing to come crashing down.
So I take a deep breath, grab the needle and then...

Coqui Lullaby

I lay plainly in my hammock

counting the coqui as they sing 

the wind begins swaying me back and forth

while humidity blankets over me

the sea gently crashes in the distance

providing percussion to the amphibian lullaby 

in the house, Spanish is spoken amidst the hum of the air conditioning

As I begin waiting for the San Sebastian rain to fall

Each moment is anticipatory, I can hear from afar the cars jettisoning 

but never so fast as to disrupt the melody of the coqui

My hammock is tied to two trees

Both bear flowers with vibrant colors: red and blue 

Some petals gently fall atop of me due to the rustling wind 

I lay lifeless, animated only by the mosquitoes 

a slight muscle twinge scares them off. 

How can my island be poor?

The sun and the sea cradles us. 

As I begin to drift away I can hear the waterfalls in Yunque 

While I lose consciousness, I hear the fritura crackle in oil. 

I hope that every time I die, I am put in this hammock. 

So that I may dance on this island one last time. 

Ghosting

Edit 1
Dear Darla,
       I hope this letter finds you in good spirits
I know that we seem to have really hit it off these past few months
And to be honest,my family adores you.
You always seem to know what to say to make the people around you happy.
especially me.
I am so grateful.
But remember when you asked me what state my life was in?
I have an answer for you now.
I am fresh magma expunged from the earth and still in conflict with my outer temperament
I cool, slowly, hardening to become igneous rock.
But not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week
Every time you tell me I've let you down or encourage me to be more reliable and I fail, I realize I am doing a disservice to you.
So I don't think we should see each other anymore. Or at least not until I've sorted out my life.
I hope this doesn't upset you, that's a stupid thing to say, of course it will upset you. But it needs to be this way.
I'm still a manchild and you're an adult. You deserve another adult to be with.
I'll always care about you and I want you to be happy. I just don't think I'm the one to be happy with.
Maybe a time will come, but you don't deserve to wait.

Love,
Mark

Edit 2
Dear Darla,
    I hope this letter finds you in good spirits
The past few months have been great.
I am so grateful.
But remember when you asked me what state my life was in?
My life is fresh magma expunged from the earth and still in conflict with my outer temperament.
So I don't think we should see each other anymore. Or at least not until I've sorted out my life.
I hope this doesn't upset you, that's a stupid thing to say, of course it will upset you. But it needs to be this way.
I'll always care about you and I want you to be happy. I just don't think I'm the one to be happy with.
Truly,
Mark

Edit 3
Dear Darla,
I hope this letter finds you in good spirits.
The past few months have been great.
But my life is complicated and I'm still in conflict with it.
So I don't think we should see each other anymore.
I hope this doesn't upset you.
I'll always care about you and I want you to be happy.
Sincerely, Mark

Edit 4
Hello Darla,
The past few months have been great.
But my life is complicated.
I don't think we should see each other anymore.
I wish you the best.
Mark

Edit 5
 Darla,
I don't think we should see each other anymore.
I wish you the best.
Mark.

Edit 6
Darla

Edit 7

Patchwork Pockets

The same thing I would want today
I will want again tomorrow- Bob Dylan

Saying goodbye to my patchwork pockets!
Finer fabrics are not too hard to find
I'll find my shears and then I'll chop it.

Trade traps and tariffs can't seem to stop it
And plain regular folk don't seem to mind
Saying goodbye to my patchwork pockets

And adorned around my neck, a golden locket
 My dear poor conscience it does remind
To find my shears and then I'll chop it.

A convertible, a yacht, a jet, a rocket
all dreams, so that I may bide my time
Till I say goodbye to my patchwork pockets

The price was fine, I had to lock it
In golden print with script like twine
I got my shears and began to chop it

And you! Yes you, how dare you knock it.
As I leave my old life clear behind
Saying goodbye to my patchwork pockets
I'll find my shears and then I'll chop it.

Fuckboy

I guess there's only so many cave etchings I can make before you believe in evolution
French and untouched, no displacement, I know that each etch was hacked
The stick figures jagged and uneven, but in a deliberate manner. Yet you still ignore it.
I even used red clay from the river bank to make you remember what it means to bleed.
The art snob in you saw it as Baudrillardian nonsense. But I predated him, artificially.
God, I feel like an idiot. Blisters on my fingers and callous that's whiter than the chalk marks in the              cave.
Fuck.
Masterpiece of Dali clocks that are all working on broken tablets. I'll scatter them around so you can           excavate them .
 And then you can tell the world about how you're a great archaeologist, while you continue to tell me         about that dashing engineer.
I'll delay the carbon dating till you're published, then let you be found as a fraud. Then when you're             crying and distraught, I'll come.
I'm conflicted by a sick affliction. My artifice is a lie within  a lie. But if I write you a love poem will         it be true or is it just another excuse to self sabotage?
That's not to say I'm not fulfilling some sort of prescription. Male tiers are rarely seen, but we're all in a secret competition to see who can be the sickest.
Let's just go back to that cave. If you read the symbols you'd realize there was a hieroglyphic                      message for you.
Encumbered by the onus of interpretation, you'll fall to your knees and let it soak in. And the only              way you'll experience my art is tactile because the next piece is going to be submerged.
 Ocean deep, misgivings of a prolonged sob, I remain in a statuesque stasis. When you retrieve me, you'll find me encrusted in reefs and fungi.
But it's too dark to see, so all you'll do is scrape your gloved hands on my cheeks. And even though I     had died many months ago, my heart will jump at the thought that you might come into contact           with my skin.
The synthetic material simulates you caressing me. Verify my symptoms with the undertaker. Does Davy Jones have a place for a relic?
No, I'm broken. Only history to you, but to no one else. I'm not even worth the afterthought, a footnote in a collection. 

Burn

I want to burn your fingernails and stray hair

I want your eye lashes incinerated 

And your smile needs to dissolve into ashe 

Pearly eyes can only be appreciated in soot 

Your abdomen must burn so you can be skinny 

Churning out the conflagration that is your life 

I want to watch it burn 

You tell me that I just want to watch the world burn 

No, just you. So burn for me 

I want you to become her best friend 

And then she'll catch you with me 

She'll finally know what it means 

to be burned

A brand on your left arm 

That sizzles in sync with each tear you let out 

I want to watch it burn 

You tell me that I just want to watch the world burn. 

No, just you. So burn for me 

All this fire was too much 

so I took a backseat to the passion 

But then she bent over and I knew 

The fire that had lit burned me

No respite in sight, I ran after her

Hoping she'd get caught in my inferno 

I want to watch it burn 

You tell me that I just want to watch the world burn 

No, just you. So burn for me 

I don't want to be aware, so I decided to burn 

And with each gram I drifted away 

Waiting for the eventual procession 

No legacy to be left on this earth 

Instead she wanted to burn

I want to watch it burn 

You tell me that I just want to watch the world burn 

No, just you. So burn for me 

You will be California in the summer 

You will be the Bronx in the 1970s 

You will be a false idol outside San Francisco

You will be my fire 

I want to watch it burn 

So burn for me 

Antonia (skeleton)

                Antonia hated dating. The thought of putting herself out there frightened her terribly. She'd much rather stay with her painting of insects. Her ant farms and beetle boxes were good company. Still, social conventions she conveniently calls her friends forced her to make an okcupid account.

My Self Summary
            Hi there!(... no, no, no that's too emphatic. )
My Self Summary
             Hello there. (much better)
I love coffee and art. I draw mostly of insects. I guess you could call me a crazy bug lady (might as well air that out). I have my degree in bio-medical engineering. I'm currently teaching instead because I realized I hate doing office work and the thought of being out in the field sounded dreadful.

What I'm doing with my life
Art and teaching. I teach 6th grade science! So think paper machete volcanoes, but not because I do actual science with them.

Favorite Books, movies, shows etc.
(I guess I like Harry Potter) Harry Potter
(Wait I better throw something serious out there, you know a book that informed my life. But I'm not sure if there was any particular book that informed my life. God, this is so much pressure, this is exactly why I didn't want to do this.)  The Alchemist
(Ok now I need a funny tv show to prove I'm not a wet blanket, though I kind of am...)  How I met Your Mother

I Spend Alot of time thinking about
( Hmm, thats a difficult question. I mean I think about so many things. Often silly things. I think about insects all the time. Like the fact that when beekeepers are cleaning out their hives, they need to be careful not to accidentally section the queen bee from her worker bees, otherwise the hive won't make any honey and will eventually abandon the hive. But that's not what they mean with this question. They want something that really consumes my life. An indication that in my brain something more important than insects and how I met your mother references is churning. I guess I think about the future, especially my dating future. I mean we all like to put on a brave face and say we don't worry about being alone. And certainly it doesn't consume my thoughts, but those moments, when I'm alone, rewatching youtube videos, the thought crosses through my mind. I wonder if there is actually someone I'd enjoy rewatching youtube videos with. Hrm, what should I write for this section! I mean life an it's existential question of what are we and what's our purpose. I sometimes think of death. I sometimes think of nothing at all!)
My future, my life, my fate

On a typical Friday Night I am
(SKIP!)

You should message me if
You're a nice honest person!


Gerard was 5 foot 11 with a boxer's jaw. He often had a look of stupidity about him. This perception is heightened by his stocky figure. People often thought of him as the dumb jock, who was destined to live out his glory days in high school  and live a miserable life as he struggled to get into college. But here he was getting his masters in business, still judged as a the dull-witted muscle head.


(Middle portion of story that I don't want to write right now)


Hey, I think insects are pretty neat! ( who says neat anymore, let's rewrite this)
Hey, I think insects are pretty rad! (maybe she'd get the Fallout reference? No that's farfetch'd and stupid)
Hey, I think insects are cool.
...
...
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..........
...............
.................
(strike out I suppose)
(checks if she's online a few times)
(rereads her profile for the 4th time)
...................
(yep, she definitely doesn't like me)

Antonia viewed your profile
(Ok the moment of truth!)


Hmm, Gerard getting his masters in business administration. He likes snow cones. He doesn't look like a jerk. Though he looks like he could be one. He's a bit hulky and I'm so tiny, I don't know if I could be with someone so huge! What if he has anger issues. Ok, that's not fair, I don't even know the guy. I might as well give him a chance.


Hey! That's awesome, what's your favorite insect?
(Fuck, I didn't think she'd ask me what my favorite one is. I can't throw out some generic bug without researching a particular kind. Let's think, hrm, how about ants. They work hard and they're very communal insects. How about red imported ants as my specific favorite insect)
Ants! I think they're so fascinating. I wish I had an ant hill.
Oh I have one at my house, yes they're great, they're my second favorite insect.
Really, which one is your favorite?
Beetles, especially, and this is going to sound nuts, the asian long-horned beetle.
Wow, that is a bit strange, they're given a bit of a bad rap.
I know but they're invasive nature is not their fault! This environment is just without any natural predator of theirs. Otherwise they'd be easy to handle.
Haha, sure. So what brings you to okcupid (fuck I shouldn't ask this, but I might as well)
....
.......
............
...................
................
.........................
(she definitely was put off by that question)
(Hmm what brings you to okcupid, well I don't want to seem too available, but I do want to date)
"Antonia, come clean the dishes" her mother called out
(Darn, I better get on that)
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(I fucked up. I should have known not to be so forward.)

Date 1:
             The first date is always the most difficult to pick. Every person has a litany of motivations and outcomes in mind for their first date. It depends on how interested you are with the person you asked out. Do you just think she's kinda cute and hope to make out by the end of the night? Or do you want a long

(more stuff happens)

            What are you honestly looking for Antonia?
            Hrm? Me? I suppose I'm just looking for someone to hang out with, someone I enjoy spending time with.
            Same here! Except sex wouldn't hurt either (did you actually just say that, you fucking creep)
            Antonia releases a laugh that sounds forced to Gerard, but was completely normal to her.
           Not that I'm only looking for sex, ya know, I'm just. well I'm just going to stop speaking at this point.
           But you know what. I'm looking for more than just someone to hang out with, said Gerard.
           Oh? Then what are you looking for?
           In Virginia there's a landfill that looks gorgeous. It's called mount trashmore and it's a hill made out of trash as the name suggests. There's a park surrounding it and its idyllic, well as idyllic as a mountain of trash can be. Some days I'd sit on it as a kid and just look over the expanse and think wow, this is an amazing view. To think that I could get that sort of view from literally a heap of trash. I kind of think we all have a lot of trash in our lives, but we often try to run away from it. We want to throw it all out, but it's impossible. I want someone to take my trash and rearrange it into a hill.
         Haha, I like that. I've always admired ant hills. They serve as refuges against the outside world. They're constructed with extreme precision with intricate tunneling systems. If we were shrunk to the size of ants and were thrown into an ant hill, it'd be a labyrinth to us. But to them it's all familiar. I kind of want an ant hill in my life, an intricate refuge that keeps me safe, while also confusing those around me.
          Why do you want to confuse those around you?
           So they don't attempt to enter my sacred space.
            I understand that. I understand that a lot.

The kiss is the sort of thing that paralyzes everyone on a date. You typically know when to kiss, but you don't want to be the one to misread a situation. An awkward tension begins to fill the air. Antonia leans forward ever so slightly to indicate that she wants to be kissed. Unfortunately Gerard is too busy being nervous and tentative that he misses the obvious call for affection. Instead he leans his head forward to see if she moves in ever so slightly. Antonia is not the best with tact, so she rushes in for the kiss, catching Gerard completely off guard. They say a first kiss dictates the tone of your relationship with someone. Wet and messy is often a sign of a short lived passionless relationship. Hot and bothered is a short lived tryst of sex and angry text massages. There wasn't much to say about this kiss. It was warm and only lasted 4 seconds.

       
Date 2: (the argument date):
                     Seconds dates are much easier. You can be more low key because you've already established you're not a complete psycho. Of course it's still not acceptable to suggest "netflix and chill", but no need to go through elaborate lengths to woo someone over. Gerard suggested a Peruvian restaurant that's a bit of a hole in the wall. The food is excellent and Antonia never had Peruvian food before. Little did Gerard know Antonia is horrible with eating out. She's incredibly picky and specific, but didn't want to shoot Gerard down when he emphatically suggested this Peruvian restaurant. Antonia likes very particular foods. Shellfish, but no fish. Hot dogs, but no mustard. Sandwiches, no mayo, no tomatoes and a meat to cheese ratio of 1.5/2. But she spent at least an hour looking up the various dishes on Pollo Inka's menu and was comfortable choosing the arroz chaufa de pollo, which just seemed like fried rice and chicken. Maybe she could ask them to leave out the scallions. No, stop it, I don't want to seem uncultured.

(transition paragraph I don't want to write yet)

You sure you don't want to take that home with you.
Antonia was sure the first time Gerard asked, which led her to become a little ticked off with him asking a second time. The rice was too oily and the chicken seasoning had cilantro, otherwise known as a bar of soap thrown into her food.
Yep, I'm sure.
Ok, if that's what you want.

Hey I know a beautiful park by the water only a 5 minute walk from here, do you want to go?
Regardless of the debacle that was dinner, Antonia was still very much interested in spending more time with Gerard.
Of course.
The park rested right on the water, across stream from the airport. They walked for about an hour through the running track that surrounded a conventional children's park and a baseball field. Finally after 30 minutes of walking in a circle, they decided to sit down and watch the planes take off.

Have you traveled," asked Gerard.
Yes, I have, but only a little. I've been the UK and France.
Wow, I've never left the country. I've always wanted to though.
Why didn't you ever go.

Gerard always tries to hide his humble upbringing from his date. Even throughout college at Yale he could hardly afford any of the great study abroad programs made available to him. He was just a country boy from Virginia, trying his luck at Stern. Everyone he knows has grandiose dreams. He has one dream. He wants to buy his mother a house with a weeping willow in front of it. His mother loves weeping willows. And with his mother at the age of 62, he's running out of time to make her dream a reality.

I never had the time.
Oh, well maybe one day we can travel together.
What? We've only just met each other.
I mean you seem pretty cool and I'm talking about in the future.
I don't really look at the future for things like that. I like to live in the immediate moment.
Oh, I mean a little planning isn't too bad.
Sure, until the plans fall apart because you were too focused on the future. What if this date is followed by a horrible one. What if you find out something about me that you don't like. Then you just spent time thinking about a trip to Spain that isn't going to happen. Even if it was just fictional, we often place emotional attachments to fictional dreams.
Ok if that's the case why even put effort into this date? Why take me to this park, which you most certainly did not come up with on the spot. It was calculated.
You're right. I'm sorry my pessimism was bleeding through a little.
Yea, I don't understand why you'd press me on that.
Sorry Antonia, I don't like rushing into things.
I've been let down a lot in my life and when ever someone tries to get me excited, I typically resist.
That makes some sense, I'm sorry if I seemed to be going to fast.
No, you didn't I just overreacted.
Maybe we both messed up a little.
Perhaps we did.

If you could go somewhere, where would it be then, Antonia said in the hopes to change the subject

I want to go to Poland. I know that my family comes from Poland, though we know no one there. I want to regain something about myself that my family lost. I'm not sure if Warsaw is where I'd find it, but it's a good start.

Poland isn't a typical travel destination, but it's definitely an interesting place to visit, you should go.

And for once Gerard broke his own rule, thinking about himself in that brief moment. A trip to poland would cost thousands, money he won't have until years from now. Even after he gets his job on wall street, he needs to buy his mom a house. He needs to pay his debt to Yale. He needs to help his poor family members out. Poland isn't anywhere in his near future. But at least in this brief moment he can pretend that his own happiness can be fit into his life through this conversation with Antonia.
Maybe I will.

Date 3: (the demons date):

Date 4: ( the love date) :


(Skipping more parts because I'm tired of writing it) So imagine they've had 4 excellent dates.

Text (Gerard): Hey Antonia, I have to be honest with you. I have never been as happy as I was with you last night. I'm really happy I've had the chance to meet you and I hope we keep doing this 8/26/2015 4:41 am

Text (Antonia): I feel the same way. When I'm with you I feel as if I can just escape from the anxieties of my life. Social pressure and expectations melt away. It's like we said, you're my hill (weird bug reference brought up on the first date).  8/26/2015 10 am

Text (Antonia): So what are you up to today? 8/26/2015 10:02 am

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Text (Antonia): Hey not sure if you got my text! But I'd love to see you sometime 8/27/2015 11: 05 am
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Text Antonia: I'm sorry if I freaked you out with the last text. I don't want to rush things (insecurity planted by Gerard in second date). If that's what you're worried about don't worry. We can take things slow. 8/29/2015 11:00 am


"I'm sorry mam, the heart attack happened all of a sudden and while it's rare, for a 23 year old to have, a heart attack is unfortunately not the first assumption a primary care physician will have. He was admitted with chest pains at 9:30 am. He passed away 8/26/2015 at 10:05

Text (Antonia): Gerard, I don't know what this is. I really don't. But I thought we had a connection. I thought we were actually going to be refuges for each other. I felt so comfortable with you. I felt secure, so that I didn't have those thoughts in my head anymore. Please.. if you don't want to see me anymore that's fine, but at least tell me. 9/02.2015 3:00 am

"We'd better go on his social media and let everyone know the horrible news. I know his closest friends already know." said Gerard's mother with a cold tone.

Okcupid message: I'm messaging you on this in the hopes that you'll respond, this will be my last message to you. I was foolish to think that I could find something significant online. The anonymity, the ability to completely dissolve in the background of someone's life is too alluring when the prospect of commitment looms. I'm not sure if I hurt you or scared you. But you hurt me. You've hurt me because I was honestly excited to be with someone who made me happy (possible bad exes mention on the third date).

Gerard was a loving individual who only wanted to share that joy with the world. He loved snow cones/ As a kid he would go to mount trashmore, a landfill in Virginia and just look out at the countryside for hours. He'd always tell me, "mom one day I'm going to have my own hill to look out from." (obituary will reference all the things he reveals with Antonia throughout their 4 dates. 

A singing exercise poem

Basically in my horrible voice I came up with a simple melody and started writing a story to it. This is the result!

I write with so many faces.
I write with so many paces.
I write with so many traces.
Of you

And people constantly tell me
How things are supposed to be
Too bad I just wanna be free
of you

So to this rhyme I do contain
Every instance inside my brain
I know, it seems quite insane
cause you

You're harmony, you're a disease
I want rid of you, I want to sneeze
But then secretly  the one I please
is you

Come on Raymond, burn the fire
We can wait the entire hour
I just want to take a shower
with you

a writing exercise if you please
I held this to a melody
And it came out quite lovely
in spite of you

So remember my trodden tail
of a guy who wanted to bail
just to realize he could prevail
if he needed to be rid of you

Shrewd Scowls

I think we all know better than to wait for the leaves to turn red.

Still, I don't doubt that autumn is going to come. 

And it'll be great, people will jeer at the trees shedding their green hue. 

The trees look at us harrowing as they lose their youth.

Why must I die? They ask. 

We just rake their concerns into piles and jump right into them. 

What fun is biodegradable material! 

I can't remember what winter feels like. 

Though I'm in a Starbucks, blasting the a/c to prove a point

fuck mother nature and Sam Champion 

And I still order the iced latte, though I hate coffee

Isn't that what people drink at these places? 

Next time I'll order a Cap'n Crunch from the "secret menu" 

The roads melt in front of my eyes, 

which are red from perspiration and building sweat. 

C'est La Vie, did I spell that right? Oh well it means life is beautiful anyways 

I could have just said it in Spanish, but unless there's an accent to denote a Barcelona inflection none of you would read as high class anyways

I forgot I was describing a mirage. The premise left me. 

Oh well. 

Why thing happen for a reason

Yea, I have the fire now and I'm burning
The flame prevents me from speaking
so instead I took a paper and burnt it
afterwards I rearranged the ashes to make this
If you have lost me, find me in my writing.
If I lose myself, I look for myself in my writing.
And you worry over whether I am true because we hardly spoke
And you worry over whether I am to be trusted because we hardly touched.
And you worry over whether I am worth it because we hardly sang.
But our writing spoke for us.
But our fate touched each other.
But our reluctance sang volumes.
I do not forsake my feelings for temptation.
Instead I expunge them onto the page to remove myself from it.
Do not despair. Do not dwindle. Just grow.
I will always be attentive to a blossoming Star Gazer lily.
Your green bulbous eyes are purple to me.
Your warm smile is white specks to me.
I can only confirm your embrace by uprooting you from the ground.
I have chosen to refrain from doing that.
Please do not withdraw your fragrance from me.
Let me wallow in it a tad longer in order to gain clarity over how I feel. 

One touch

                       We all have our faces up to the glass, but we pretend we're content with simply looking. Much to our dismay the glass often distorts us, fogged by our warm breath when we talk. And so eventually we must transcend the momentary physical barrier. Eventually we must touch. There is no eloquence in introductions until after you've remembered them. The moment you decide to shatter that barrier you invite a warmth to your body. Both physically you feel the warm breath, but also one must take into account the pulse. It vibrates true and eventually the conversation dances along the ever going beat. And you are sync, just for a moment. Waiting to be disrupted by an outside occurrence. Or perhaps you need to yawn or hiccup. Regardless, for a few seconds understanding is possible because you are connected. For a few seconds writing is possible because you have felt it. And so I wrote it.  

Speaking freely

                       I will speak freely just for a moment in the hopes that perhaps a small bit of what makes me amazing may be etched in electronic ink. You are a carnation I never want to pick. A stand out among a sea of flowers. And though others lean towards roses, tulips, even daisies; you stand firm. I wish I could lay in the grass and count your petals. But my eyes are not keen enough. I wish I could gently uproot you from the ground. But my fingers are too brawny and coarse. Maybe one day my eyes will change colors? Perhaps the callous will wash away and only leave smooth dainty hands. I wait knowing that even though I have not pressed you inside my own book, I've at least affirmed you in text. I apologize for my lack of technique. I've been in a rut for some while. But tonight you have temporarily freed me from the bastion of self deprecation I so shoddily stood in. 

When people lean just a little over you, they're getting ready to tell you bad news.
It's always a misnomer. They pretend that they're hurt as well, but they're height speaks volumes about the power dynamic. And all you can do is hunch your head over your clenched fist and let your face rest. You stare, nodding begrudgingly and I watch singing to myself and secretly to you in the hopes that somehow these vibes find a way of magically comforting you. And so you agree because that's what good people do. They'll always come up with some reason for why it isn't your fault. We'll just call it creative differences and part ways. Everyone has a convenient time constraint. I have class. I need to go to bed early. I ordered dominoes pizza and don't want your ass in my room when I come back with my food. Petty. Still I heard you sing and I know you have such a beautiful voice. Sing a spiritual for me tonight. I won't be there of course, but just as you hopefully heard my voice then perhaps I'll be able to hear your anguish.

Time to take the little green man off the table. This isn't your moment. Tune out, thus tuning you back in to the constant rotation of the escalators. the hum of the vending machines. The red headed latina who has vibrant red lipstick on. And though I see you floundering, gasping for emotional air at each moment, thinking maybe I can explain my way out of this, I realize there's nothing I can do. And even the very act of writing this is just a selfish projection. I see the man lounging over the chair, leg dangling over the armrest. He is in bliss because he cannot hear.

The third act is always one of inner reflection. I'd like to believe I've unraveled something for you to see, but I realize that this was all for me. I chose this portrait and even as you walk away from the fictional excursion, I find myself still imagining an empty feeling over the entire event. I just think you're sad, maybe as I was sad. I just think you're defeated, just as I was defeated. I just think you are exhausted, just as I was panting. The final reflection is simple. I am sad. I am defeated. I am exhausted. At least I did all those things from the solace of hotel furniture. You on the other hand went through those things in my fictional retelling of your evening breakup.