he said, he said, man, i wish i could just say I AM A POET, and mean it.
I guess we should have known from the first song that played when our lips met. Steadier footing, my ass. “You quit this winter’s past, I tried twice before, but like this it just would not last” dum dum, dada a dum.
But then there are all these crazy things that bind together everything that we’ve ever known. The glue that holds everything together. The fact that before I left I knew that I wasn’t going to see you, I felt your soul preparing to hibernate, I guessed the months, and you agreed to wait, the next morning I met Montana. The tiny, baby, thin piece of thread that I tied around your wrist beforehand and somehow magically you kept it on for two and half years. The. Whole. Time. How in our favorite movie he has a tattoo of the same thing, and she loves the water, and they write and paint together, and read horrible e.e. cummings poems, they both have matching tattoos, SHE gets sent away, and he’s a dishwasher… how Pink Floyd has miraculously been on every important time since the first time. How we both feel Jim Morrison running through our veins like normal people feel god. How we’ve both seen God. How I got you to lay naked in the backyard. One one one follows us not only in time, but images, art, the people we’ve met, the people we’ve wanted besides each other, in the middle of the night, the change to my pack of smokes. One one one at the most ironic times, when I’m trying to forget you. The number of the message from someone else saying “I love you”. Our carved half-circles, I cut you, you cut me. Your family is my family, I would lay on train tracks for them, and I cannot say the same for most of mine. We were young and pure after washing each other clean. How magically I road a bus and found you in the busiest part of the city, you came slowly down the hill, I didn’t even have to look, you just were, and I just stood, and I gave you my letter, and we held hands. We buy each other the same Christmas gifts without prior conversation, and they hang above our beds. We wrote bibles, and everyone was jealous. How I can feel you. And you can feel me. We met and without second thought conversations poured like honey. I opened you up to the world, and you opened my heart for the first time, and I fear, the last time ever. I’ve never completely unlocked my doors for even the closest of friends. I know you better than you know you, you know me better than I know me, or at least, you used to. “And the distance is quiet simply much too far for me to row” I love you in every kind of way, my father, my brother, sister, friend, partner, husband, fuck buddy, random guy from a far that i can't stop staring at.
So, yes, I do believe in soul mates.
But then there are all these crazy things that bind together everything that we’ve ever known. The glue that holds everything together. The fact that before I left I knew that I wasn’t going to see you, I felt your soul preparing to hibernate, I guessed the months, and you agreed to wait, the next morning I met Montana. The tiny, baby, thin piece of thread that I tied around your wrist beforehand and somehow magically you kept it on for two and half years. The. Whole. Time. How in our favorite movie he has a tattoo of the same thing, and she loves the water, and they write and paint together, and read horrible e.e. cummings poems, they both have matching tattoos, SHE gets sent away, and he’s a dishwasher… how Pink Floyd has miraculously been on every important time since the first time. How we both feel Jim Morrison running through our veins like normal people feel god. How we’ve both seen God. How I got you to lay naked in the backyard. One one one follows us not only in time, but images, art, the people we’ve met, the people we’ve wanted besides each other, in the middle of the night, the change to my pack of smokes. One one one at the most ironic times, when I’m trying to forget you. The number of the message from someone else saying “I love you”. Our carved half-circles, I cut you, you cut me. Your family is my family, I would lay on train tracks for them, and I cannot say the same for most of mine. We were young and pure after washing each other clean. How magically I road a bus and found you in the busiest part of the city, you came slowly down the hill, I didn’t even have to look, you just were, and I just stood, and I gave you my letter, and we held hands. We buy each other the same Christmas gifts without prior conversation, and they hang above our beds. We wrote bibles, and everyone was jealous. How I can feel you. And you can feel me. We met and without second thought conversations poured like honey. I opened you up to the world, and you opened my heart for the first time, and I fear, the last time ever. I’ve never completely unlocked my doors for even the closest of friends. I know you better than you know you, you know me better than I know me, or at least, you used to. “And the distance is quiet simply much too far for me to row” I love you in every kind of way, my father, my brother, sister, friend, partner, husband, fuck buddy, random guy from a far that i can't stop staring at.
So, yes, I do believe in soul mates.
