flames for a year, ashes for thirty. giuseppe tomasi di lampedusa, the leopard.

happy thanksgiving. merry christmas. happy new year!

when it turned 2012 i was stuck on the l train, lookin’ like the classiest ho possible, between morgan and montrose. when i got off, it was like 12:05 but i didn’t mind sharing the crossover with strangers. it felt good to be alone because i’d deserved some me time and i was always alone anyways.

i wasn’t feeling good and looking back, i shouldn’t have gone out at all. i should have ignored jeneh and kitty, and taken a sleeping pill and woken up without regrets. instead, i dragged myself to the bar and ignored true blue as much as possible. this is like my best strategy, look really pretty and pretend not to notice. entonces, if i’m not talking to you, it probably means i love you.

eventually something happened. i had left him only hours ago. he’d been cold and just damn weird and i was seething. the seething wasn’t drawn out of me in time and at 1 am when i took the molly, i was disgruntled, unloved. and then i just kept taking more and more molly. i don’t know if i did 4 pills or 8, or 10. it was really weak? i know i acted a fool and i know he was a dick when we got home.

i know at some point, i felt this utter, sinking despair. and i think i’m just sad now. sad that true blue didn’t turn out to be who i thought he could be. although this was obvious from the start. sad that maybe i am much in the same place as i was before, alone and tired. i can’t seem to write or read a single sentence without thinking i’ve written or read it before.

what would be nice is to read a novel unlike anything. like about an old man who lives on the moon and wakes up everyday to phosphorescent sunshine. he has memories but are unsure if they are his and can’t seem to trace them further back than a single movement. most of his day is consumed by taking care of his plants. he doesn’t think of death, remembering in itself is sad but he is happy in the sun. THE END.