I’ve always just kind of made things up as I go along. Throwing small pieces of my life into bags and boxes and showing up on doorsteps like a stray dog, being invited inside and being loved, and not being able to help but take it for granted. Because nothing ever seems to be enough for me. Always living in the past and the future and not being able to accept the present moment, letting it pass me by and running off somewhere else and then having to remember that I was something to someone instead of being someone for someone in a moment that has already passed when I was actually there. Love can feel like such a fickle thing. It drifts in and out of your life, slipping in and out of your eyes and heart and becoming a memory that you use to keep yourself warm when it won’t stop snowing at the end of February. I’ve loved a lot of people in my life. I’ve loved a lot of boys. I love the way that they move and how their limbs bend and lead up into their chests and how their masculinity beats through their hearts. I love the way they fuck and how they fall into a pile of weak limbs that need to be held after they come. I’ve loved many boys and many of them have loved me, most of them for the wrong reason, but some of them for the right ones. But I’ve loved girls, too. Not in the same way, but I’ve loved just as many girls as I’ve loved boys. Their soft features and the way their hearts pump the blood into their rosy cheeks and how more often than not they wind up being stronger than most of the boys. More girls than boys have stood by my side and held my head above water and fed me and loved and more girls than boys have loved me for the right reasons than the wrong ones. But when it comes to love and the love that I’ve received, on the end of that feeling, where it becomes thin and and weak and brittle, the love gives way to the feeling of a being needed, and the roles are always reversed and I’m always the one having to be the strong one for someone else. And I always run. I leave the feeling behind and throw all my shit into my tiny convertible and drive into the sun thinking about the sun and how I never want it to set on me, because if it doesn’t then the full moon will never have to rise and it won’t scramble my thoughts and remind me that I am alone, but sometimes I need feel like I am alone even though that’s never actually true. Sometimes I need to feel like it’s just me. That feeling moves me and reminds me that I’m human and it reminds me that I have to be here more often and not live through some nostalgic fantasy or some fragmented fantastical super human hologram of my future self where everything looks and feels exactly how I think I need it to feel. Sometimes I need my moonlit fantasies to be shattered and I need to be reminded that I am no more and no less human than any other breathing and present creature that’s like me that’s out there, which is everyone that I know and everyone that I don’t know. Because we are all one and there is no division between. All of us are always fighting and failing and losing and breathing and dreaming and healing and winning and trying to find our way home, because you do get there one day. You do one day wind up on a doorstep where your heart will plant its flag and you are loved without reason, not wrong or right, and you are just loved. And you are home and you are human and you are alive and you are not alone. Do you understand what I’m telling you now? It is not just you out there fighting the good fight. Every mother fucker you know, every friend you have on Facebook, is on a path exactly the same as yours and at the same time the path is your own personal journey that has never been lived and will never be lived again. A path that feels lonely and a path that at times you have to travel alone with a broken heart. But your heart is never really broken, because your heart is only broken if it’s not beating. And if you’re breathing then it’s beating. It beats along with all the other people who are out there somewhere staring up at the same moon as you, waiting for the sun to rise and light their paths in the morning, and sometimes those paths cross and collide with someone who’s like you. But when you lose your way and you find yourself stuck in the sand at the edge of the sea, and it crashes down and knocks you flat and carries you away from who you are, remember that you are your own sea with the ability to crash back just as hard against the waves in front of you. So throw yourself head first into yourself and ring every bell along the way, and when you grow tired from the journey and you feel like you can’t find your way home and you feel like you can no longer swim, remind yourself that you are loved. I hope you understand what I am trying to tell you, because it’s the only two things in life that you need to know for sure if you’re ever to find your way to the right stuff. You are not fucking alone when the path is dark and the water isn’t still, you’re beautiful in the light of both the sun and the moon, and you are loved. Above all things and everything else, I beg you, never, ever forget that you are loved. Let that love guide you to the right stuff where the feeling is never weak and is always as strong as the pulse of the tide that tried to keep you from finding your way home, but at the same time led you to the place where you know for sure that you are not alone.
