journal

Journal # 04.23.16

You had a yo-yo and could walk the dog and spin a bottle and beeline where it stopped, rushing into a body, knocking torn denim boots and books and knocked up if you don’t watch out. And maybe you won’t cause maybe you wanna raise a kid with me? Unless we think of the future. Big with it. Feeling it. And nobody else could be happy.

I remember the road trips very well. Close enough to see all the stars been pounded into the pavement. Shoe string budgets and the smell of gasoline. Stretching youth into the sun. I’m glad I made them with you. The nights of headlights and dashed lines and loving you inside your angst. How we found joy in the midst of an endless journey. Must have been the laughter over stupid shit. Got the character outta me and it cracked you up. Nirvana and Pearl Jam all over the radio. Immortality got a tan on the beach. I began to trust you and not myself. Bleach. Marley on a tape deck, and the clock on the screen is digital green. Glowing and the butts end over end flipping behind us, flicked out the windows when windows were rolled up and down. Life was more manual and maybe we liked it that way. The soundtrack of pre-millenium America. See the old Gulf gas signs above the bible belt bullshit?

My stomach kept getting upset. I tried to calm her down with lengthy and prolonged cream and coffee, but it was no use, she continued to grumble and make my life hellish in the middle of the night. Flamingos and origami cranes. Paper journals on backseats with Big Books. She almost made me sick until I hit the joint. NA was put back another day. I lost the point. Tunnels to Mexico beneath us, Tijuana, and why are they all coming this way? Like you and you made me so happy. Goddamn. Lost the point like Marlon Brando on an island. Jane’s addiction. Carefree when wet.

Today I was binging on Netflix in the dark. Remembering that three-legged dog in traffic by the tracks on Broadway. I postponed anything real, awash in afternoon rains. Maybe that’s how I begin to remember the names and the places and searching for the kindness and laughter still so hard to find sometimes. The streets carry scent of flowers and here in the City of Trees — all has turned green, too, like Chicago trying desperate to win back all the land it lost. Last winter. I love you.     – Katya, 2016

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