A hippie hostel full of striped hammocks. Pitch black sky contrasted with brightly colored railings and spray-painted walls, lighters sparking on pipes and guitars strumming in happy hands. It’s all good, man. A chessboard set up next to a long wooden table where the guy named after a bird and I talked for hours about everything under the sun. Jordan called and I told him I’d call him back because I needed to finish a conversation about paying for sex. Later, I swung in a rainbow striped hammock as I had the same discussion with him. We’ve both been so busy lately that I feel a little disconnected. Afterwards, clinking cups together while the hostel guys, one with dreadlocks, the other in a blue and red striped sweater, sing in Spanish — two others accompany them on guitars. Rain pattering against a tin and wooden roof and Robin and I say goodnight as we tuck ourselves in to our little twin beds and turn off the light.
never have i seen the moon so big and beautiful. it was like you could reach out and touch it – so real and close that i half expected to see ET riding across the sky on his bike. i felt like i could see the universe when i stared at it, and into the blackness surrounding its illumination.
i’ve drunk nearly an entire bottle of sweet shitty wine while lying in a hammock in an oasis today. i have a compulsion to finish the food on my plate, and the drinks that i buy – something i should work on not doing when i don’t want to. there are huge leafy palms beside me and a clear blue pool ahead, water rippling with the gentle breeze that passes us by. it’s a lazy kind of trek, the kind that you could finish in a day if you were really motivated. but it’s nice to stop and breathe and take it all in every once in a while. the two day trekkers have just arrived and have merely an hour to enjoy this beautiful place before the sun, already hidden behind the mountains surrounding us, finally goes down. it was nice having the place to ourselves for awhile.
baby, this is what you came for.
we’re a small group of six. a student, a theatre director, a park ranger, a baker, a woodworker, and a sailor. it’s been nice speaking English again – i was studying for days in Arequipa and mostly keeping to myself, made easier by the fact that nearly everyone i met was either Dutch or German. my nose is extraordinarily dry and i’ve been coughing a lot because of the dust. i’m trying not to wish my time away.
fermented grapes are a wonderful thing. i’ve tried fermented corn, or chincha (“Incan beer”) here in Peru and it’s not the same. more two day trekkers arriving and i have a desire to be isolated from everyone. there’s something to be said for drinking alone and then writing about it – it’s not necessarily lonely; sometimes it can be introspective. a possibility that’s somewhat ruined by two guys cannonballing into a cold pool right next to me. another swig.
i’m pretty sure my boyfriend doesn’t even know i have a blog. i love him and miss him but i’d give up this year of being with him, physically, to have the rest of my life with him. and to have this period to explore the world, possibly more than i ever have before. or at least differently, by being immersed in other countries for months at a time. you can’t spend your good years wishing your life away. stability will come, flexibility may never again so easily.
one swig left. i’ve got a strange urge to watch Pirates of the Caribbean – Jack with his rum is like me with wine (on a lesser scale, of course). another cannonball. do they know there’s such a thing as a swan dive? why am i being this way? judgmental and antisocial and territorial. i’m just tired and deeply immersed in my own thoughts, and the presence of strangers, cool travelers though they might be, is unwanted at the moment.
does everyone feel like their love is meant to last? like you’ve found the one, the love of your life? i’m twenty one and trying to keep it in perspective, but i really feel like i have. is that stupid? ridiculous? unrealistic? i don’t know. i’d never been in love before this. and it’s painful to imagine loving someone else.
i took a selfie today, something i rarely if ever do, and it occurred to me that maybe i’m some kind of beautiful – something that my best friend and boyfriend always say but that i never really believe. self-perception is a strange thing. it’s like i saw myself today despite my flaws, instead of because of them.
1, 2, 3 drink. last swig.
i’d like to swing from a chandelier sometime. it’s a wonder i didn’t become an alcoholic last summer. lots of self-control i suppose, and knowing that falling into that hole would only mean eventually having to dig myself back out. i haven’t written much in the last year and i don’t know why. it just hasn’t come to me as naturally, and i don’t force myself to write.
i’ve lost so many rings in the course of traveling – just today my turquoise one lost its stone amidst the dust and gravel along the trail. i think i do my best writing when i’m drunk or sad, and i wonder if most creative people feel the same way about their work. i’ve smelled cigarette smoke and really want one, although i’ve mostly quit smoking even socially. a whiff of garlic bread that is probably merely more rice and vegetables passes by and i would honestly drink more shitty wine if i had any.
can you feel where the wind is? can you feel it through all of the windows inside this room?
but you’ll never be alone. i’ll be with you from dusk till dawn.
god, i will feel silly if it turns out he is not the love of my life. sometimes i love him so much that it hurts to breathe; i’m completely overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude. is that how it’s supposed to be? can i even ask that, or is every love different and no one really knows who’s the one and who isn’t?
and yet, this is my trip. my period of independence. go give love to your body. i’m excited to go to Colombia in a week; the heat will be devastating but the greenery refreshing. i haven’t wanted to sleep with anyone else yet, am not sure that i will at all during this year. maybe in Australia. but my focus isn’t finding other people to fill a physical or emotional void; it’s filling whatever holes i feel by myself. learning how to be okay on my own again, as much as possible.
it’s nice to be rocked again.
there ain’t nothing common ‘bout us.
hours later, sober. i always wished i could dance or sing, to make people feel something through my own art or self-expression. maybe words are my art. maybe i should start to paint pictures with them again.
why don’t i speak up?
mama called me destructive
said it’d ruin me one day
listening to the weeknd to calm down
sinking into a black hole but i don’t even know why I’m extraterrestrial
i wish i could write something to express the way music makes my blood flow
i wish i could dance or sing or scream
run a few miles
get it all out
instead i’m glued to this bed to this room to these people who i can’t even ask to leave because none of it’s mine
in the night she’s dancing to relieve the pain
i never write when i’m happy
i haven’t made a happy list in ages
i haven’t journaled in months
never blog unless i’m crumbling
get off my fucking foot
get out get out get out
maybe i’m the one who should leave
oh, a flair for drama – that’s another one of my flaws
she’ll never walk away
i’m going to implode
what’s the difference
(one hurts me, the other hurts us all)
i want to buy balenciaga sneakers but there are families weeping in sri lanka over their murdered loved ones, taken from this world the day their supposed savior returned to it two thousand years ago
did you know there are people who feel this way all the time?
drained and detached and like it’s never going to get better and in small instances like this where lack of sleep and drugs have depleted me i understand why some of those people choose to end it
it is utterly heartbreaking that an imbalance of chemicals in the brain can keep a person from ever feeling happy
enjoy your privileged life
i can’t even study because of the headspace i’m in right now
i need sleep
and to breathe
big deep breaths
have you ever driven over a bridge and thought about how easy it would be to die?
one little veer of the steering wheel, into the concrete barrier
maybe the impact would be enough
or maybe you’d soar beyond the wall and into the blue waters below
maybe that’s how it would end
i don’t think about it because i want to, but rather to remind myself how precarious and precious life is
it’s a false alarm
i want to drink to excess
need some release
i’m gonna break my knuckles while i wait on his bed
even drowning can be an act of mercy when you’re living in gray
how much dopamine does it take?
baby sometimes the screen can be left alone
sometimes the blood is just blood
no hidden meaning in the iron and plasma
(chemistry was never my strong suit)
we’re enough as it is
he has a polaroid of my bare chest tucked inside his wallet
along with a condom
“just in case”
bite down or bite up i don’t think it matters anymore
i feel like sometimes i try to take up as little space as possible
physically and in other people’s lives
why can’t the sky hold on to the rain like i hold on to this choking?
she ain’t got time for loving
stare at me all you want, i’m not looking back
who said love meant anything in the grand scheme of things
who said it meant nothing
there is always more to swallow
and to choke on
i’ll feel better in the morning.
The bed’s getting cold and you’re not here
The future that we hold is so unclear
But I’m not alive until you call
And I’ll bet the odds against it all
I’m trying to build boundaries, rules and roads to keep me safe, or as safe as I can be at this point. We’re on the edge and I keep making excuses for him and I wonder what it would take for me to just walk away. I sat talking with Ally and Reilly tonight for three hours about everything, from boys to transgender people to God, and I talked to him too, over text. I think the root of my hurt and all the negative feelings associated with it is that he wasn’t thinking about us, he was thinking about himself. I was thinking about us, approached him graduating from a place of compromise and being willing to make sacrifices. It would be different, feel different, if he had done the same. But we can’t go back in time, can’t redo it, and I think the only chance of me feeling okay in this again is if he goes out of his way to prove that he cares and he wants this. I need to be shown, not just told. And it’ll probably take time.
But I’d love it if we made it.
I’m sitting in class and I can smell him on my skin and on my clothes. He doesn’t shower as much as he should, doesn’t do a lot of things, but damn he smells good. I’m sitting in class and I could cry because despite what my father says about us being too young and this not being real, I love him more than I ever thought possible. Terrified of losing him, and that’s how you get lost in love. Maybe I’ve forgotten myself in the last few months, gotten swept away in loving him and being what he needs and forgetting who I am who I want to be what I need. I don’t need a promise of forever but maybe forever is what I want. Then again, I’m twenty years young and what the fuck do I know about a love that lasts a lifetime?
Then again, who does?
Not my mother and father, not my friends’ parents, everyone has problems and there is no perfect relationship. Sometimes I feel like mine is pretty damn close but I’ve got blinders on, rose colored glasses that strip me of the strength to choose what he can so easily, to walk away. We talked for hours last night, alternating between avoiding eye contact and piercing each other’s souls with our gaze. Lots of tears, sad faces, short hitched breaths. He needs a year, he says, maybe less maybe more. I’m going away next year, off to distant places to get off on distant people so maybe it’s for the best. We both can have half of what we want but it’s hard to have it all. I want him, he says he wants me. But being open is hard, long distance is hard, a breakup is hard but at least it doesn’t drag it out. I am terrified of losing him.
But maybe he is just a moment, despite the word “always” inked across my skin.