Hey you, destroying angel, I've got your number and I've got you dialled. You can't fool me in your tattered sheepskin, and I am not buying your emotard Pacific Northwest Beard Until Spring Routine.
I've got bulbs primed to bloom and an iPod full of my brother's mysterious music. I have friends afar, that I miss like lightning, that I miss like old american cars and Easter kickball.
Hey you, destroying angel, is that the best you can bring. As I type in my grey sweatshirt and my pink underwear, an ipod slowly dying and an army of indie ballads come to do your bidding, I shall slay you with something you have never heard before, but will surely break your heart.
Come then, like the ephemeral sexydirtysweetness of an unwished for dream of a half realized pastische of romance, come in the morning before work and let me be fortified.
For the rest, for the people in love that I love, let them thrive, let it be my late valentine. From my parents contemplating victory on the courts after that last tequila, to my brother and his wife down the street, all of the good lovers in San Francisco, and all of the good lovers in Portland, and all of the good lovers everywhere, it's a short and ardent prayer, go on and love then, love your partner, love your children, love your crazy ass family, love your friends, love them all, always. Love your exes, love the ones who stalk you, love the ones you stalk (from a legal distance) love the fact that you are not in love anymore, wish your ex-husband's new wife well, and him too. It's a hard road, you have travelled it.
And then for those who have disappeared within the grid. And for those who were consumed by fire. And even those, who we cherish, who never met the perils of adulthood who died at nineteen and twenty in calamity-by-drunken-tree. I am sorry Steve and Stacy that you never got to see us when we were sort of growed up.
Go on and love then, keep love, keep love through forty, cleave to it like some extra fatty cut of love pork, keep love for those of us who still sorta believe, who still want to believe, push on and rock on for all of us single girls in our pink underwear who are writing our hearts out to the internets dieties in hopes that we might abjectly stumble onto Something That is Worth Pursuing, and No He is Most Emphatically Not Like the Last Douchenozzle I Fell For Before. * at least one hopes.
But to all the people I know who are in love, and you are many, you span weeks and decades, there are children, and there are cats and dogs, love on, love on, you give me hope.
Love on, Love on, Live on. Fear will always be a component, and fear will always be your steadfast opponent, he or she will always taunt you from corners, in glances askance. Be a cowboy or a cowgirl, then, in the dark, fuck it, just go.
(I posted this last night and edited it this morning, this post is inspired by an gchat I had the other day with a friend) apologies to my brother who was mystified..........
I've got bulbs primed to bloom and an iPod full of my brother's mysterious music. I have friends afar, that I miss like lightning, that I miss like old american cars and Easter kickball.
Hey you, destroying angel, is that the best you can bring. As I type in my grey sweatshirt and my pink underwear, an ipod slowly dying and an army of indie ballads come to do your bidding, I shall slay you with something you have never heard before, but will surely break your heart.
Come then, like the ephemeral sexydirtysweetness of an unwished for dream of a half realized pastische of romance, come in the morning before work and let me be fortified.
For the rest, for the people in love that I love, let them thrive, let it be my late valentine. From my parents contemplating victory on the courts after that last tequila, to my brother and his wife down the street, all of the good lovers in San Francisco, and all of the good lovers in Portland, and all of the good lovers everywhere, it's a short and ardent prayer, go on and love then, love your partner, love your children, love your crazy ass family, love your friends, love them all, always. Love your exes, love the ones who stalk you, love the ones you stalk (from a legal distance) love the fact that you are not in love anymore, wish your ex-husband's new wife well, and him too. It's a hard road, you have travelled it.
And then for those who have disappeared within the grid. And for those who were consumed by fire. And even those, who we cherish, who never met the perils of adulthood who died at nineteen and twenty in calamity-by-drunken-tree. I am sorry Steve and Stacy that you never got to see us when we were sort of growed up.
Go on and love then, keep love, keep love through forty, cleave to it like some extra fatty cut of love pork, keep love for those of us who still sorta believe, who still want to believe, push on and rock on for all of us single girls in our pink underwear who are writing our hearts out to the internets dieties in hopes that we might abjectly stumble onto Something That is Worth Pursuing, and No He is Most Emphatically Not Like the Last Douchenozzle I Fell For Before. * at least one hopes.
But to all the people I know who are in love, and you are many, you span weeks and decades, there are children, and there are cats and dogs, love on, love on, you give me hope.
Love on, Love on, Live on. Fear will always be a component, and fear will always be your steadfast opponent, he or she will always taunt you from corners, in glances askance. Be a cowboy or a cowgirl, then, in the dark, fuck it, just go.
(I posted this last night and edited it this morning, this post is inspired by an gchat I had the other day with a friend) apologies to my brother who was mystified..........
posted by emma at
12:32 AM
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