I am going to give you moments in my life that changed me (which I will list in such brevity that they will feel like little insignificant, disparate flickers of some pointless existence. the sad part is that you will never feel the weight that I felt when those moments occurred. isn’t tragic how so much feeling can elude us from grasping what is actually only just transience? isn’t it such a trick of heightened perception? how can we exist so deeply in such a finite wave of “happening” and carry its burden for so long after it’s actually gone? how can we dream so much about things that no longer exist? living is a perpetual wake.) I’m giving you moments because I can’t carry them anymore. I am giving you my bullshit because no matter what, i fear, i will never be understood (don’t worry, these were all beautiful things for me):
I remember when you called me in the middle of the night and told me “I think we have a good thing going.” even though you were drunk and we didn’t last and I was an asshole, thanks.
I remember when I sat in the patio of the house that I grew up in and I played Pedro Infante on the record player. I could see my grandma from where I sat, in between doorways. She stood at the kitchen sink and threw her head back as she washed the dishes and I could barely make out her singing. Even when she thinks she is alone, she acts like someone is watching.
I remember the time there was an earthquake when we were lying in bed and you reached out and grabbed my hand and we fell asleep with our hands still clutched together.
I remember the time we drove down the 110 FWY (my favorite freeway). It was late in the afternoon, the sun was low but it was not setting. We had the windows rolled down and food in our bellies and beer still masking the pink of our gums. And we drove southbound on that winding freeway and turned up Beirut or Arcade Fire. I don’t remember that part.
Remember when you made me laugh so hard I felt everything was going to be alright?
I remember the first time i really listened to VU for the first time. I was in an old friend's car with a 40oz between my legs. It was raining and the streetlights were obscured by the drops of rain. The heater was on and fuck that hot air felt good against my knees.
I remember when you picked me up from work and you cried about your grandma. I thought you were impenetrable and I just wanted to hold you but I didn’t.
I remember when we got high and drove to a bookstore. We laughed so hard about nothing for what felt like the duration of a few blocks. Then we sat in the basement of that store and talked about religion and politics and the future.
I remember when we traveled two hours just to drink ourselves into oblivion (so cliche right?) and watched movies in a shitty hotel room and ate pizza in bed.
I remember when we danced in a museum to Joy Division and our shadows on the walls were like a moving picture. and when we danced in alone in your bedroom. and when I danced with your sister drunkenly at 3am in the apartment of a person whose name I have no recollection of.
I remember when we walked around the arboretum and we talked so much in a way that we don't usually get along and the day was beautiful. I'm sorry I was pressing you to leave the house but I was feeling anxious and I had to be outside (it seems like everything I do is to ameliorate that feeling in my gut). But, just being with you outside in the sun was the greatest day.
I remember that before you died, you read to me in bed from a large picture book. It was green and it had some illustration on the front cover and a pattern etched onto the back. I remember that. and I remember your hands. I will never forget your stubby, rough, brown hands. I will never forget the feel of my hand in yours.
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