flash on chalk

chalk drawn sidewalks told a story of the city on a sunday morning. the heat was beginning to climb upon us with the sun in the sky. i took some coffee and you had water and we walked three corners of the square. many of the artists were down on their elbows touching up. a kid who had not learned to talk looked in our eyes and pointed enthusiastically at some faces in the stone. no longer alone.

chalk it off. fin

chalk it off as existential slowburn -iv

i don’t wanna do it. i don’t wanna tell you what i think will happen here because i always had hope, always in life i had hope. i wouldn’t want to describe a terrible thing to you. i wouldn’t want you to misunderstand. it kills me how we fail to come across sometimes. love doesn’t need convincing. i doubt you believe in us anymore, actually. can i say that? whereas my sense is you have tried hard and i have tried hard it’s just our ways of living here have shifted drastically from how we were raised and it’s an ever moving picture whereby we are ever trying to adjust. so, you see, i can and forever love you. i am that way for life, i know i am, and you say you are, too, but i don’t know. i don’t know why this fucking thing happened and please don’t ever tell me again that i’m some broken record, okay, i don’t even carry a philosophy to support that kind of talk – about waste and wastelands. i am humbler than when i met you. you gave me this. i am more quiet, it’s true, but not necessarily withholding or despising you for talking to me, as you presume. alot of it is just me internally looking at my situation and wondering how i could ever have imagined my life being any less than tragic, in the end… i love you. we’ve been through a lot and i won’t forget you, all i can do now is just live through it with you until maybe i need to live through it without you? i don’t know. it’s different looking one day to the next. the light. it’s just blinding. i gotta close my eyes sometimes.   -fin (from an old letter never was sent)

chalk it off

chalk it off as existential slowburn -i

An old letter i wrote to someone i was in love with …

PART I

i guess i have been thinking about this honest expression you wrote to me last night
and really worried that i might not be up to addressing it, responding in to it, even reading
it all the way through – which i finally did just now. not so many hours ago you wrote it, and
not so many hours later i read the beginning and purposefully sped through it so the feelings
would not arise. the tough ones. the ones that are the simplest proof (to me) of my love 4 you.

you really opened your eyes and stared at it, didnt you? i mean the relationship, as is, as has
evolved, what has become. i can tell. my question is rhetoric. and its very fucking discouraging,
traumatic and sad, if i look at it one way. the way i see it all when you show me no mercy and
i, in return, show you none back. why? like the argument by the bathroom that must have had
to happen (even though it sucked royally) so that we could be forced to talk about the things
that you very tellingly reminded me we have been brushing over or forgiving or letting slip out of
mind in a patterned way… to be continued