I am wearing the sweatshirt we bought the day before we left. Its blue, and soft and I remember as I pull it over my shoulders how they teased you at the table in the airport restaurant in LA that it was a girls sweatshirt, and the next day you gave it to me. Today its 2 years later, or close, since we finished something, and then since we became a we, and then a 'you' and a 'me.' I went to the mountains to a cabin with a barn that had been converted into a studio with a bed a kitchen and a 180 degree view of the Blue Ridge mountains, and couldn't help but think of you in August, and then you texted me when I came down the hill, at 1:11, you said, and I knew somehow you would, as I had written and you were due, sometime, to get back to me. And there you were again, a universe away, and I having gotten that far too, was for a moment slung back into you. There were still things to uncover, still are it seems, maybe not with 'us' but with 'you' and with 'me'. I still turn certain events over in my mind and wonder about what really happened, what was happening, how much younger I was and why it made me so overwhelmingly sad at the end, but at the beginning so ecstatically happy. But that is me being naive, because that's as simple a story as plays in any movie. I now have my theories and positions, my rogue philosophies. I can still feel you sometimes, if I try, through the thick glass we molded between us, still hear you breathing, or see you carve an initial, spell something backward in your smokey breath as it collects on the pane, but I don't know if we'll shatter it again. What once was a mirror we stood on one side of together now stands between us as a thick and ragged as a rough sewn seem. I think perhaps you saw something in me, you found me, somehow, well, in the same way that you would stumble upon this one day, at a borrowed screen, daydreaming, and wondering. But what was it exactly? Perhaps you used me as an escape and then when you felt too out of control you quit me, and I wonder if you ever did see me, even though I felt you could see me. I wonder what I did to you, how did I use you? That perhaps you embodied some of my dreams, because you wanted to, and could, hear me. And you became inspiration to me and since I am still waiting to find someone who so violently shakes me to feeling. I wonder what made us 'we' back at the beginning, and I suppose and hope it is a few things. One, that whatever we thought we saw in the other, was and is there, and I do believe that's true. And then, that whatever it was I got to feel back there, two years back there, as we completed something, and whatever you got to feel, was more than our afflictions and addictions, or any of our superficial musings. It was joy of love or love of possibility. I don't know if we'll ever be that for each other again, in certain moments I miss you and miss you being that in me, miss your generosity and miss the things I could see even when you didn't want to see. And I miss how you saw me when you were willing to see me. All the cliches, I miss Z. But I let you go, because freedom really comes when fear can start to breath. Or if its a rope we're sometime tied to, we gotta know what we're cutting to get sailing. Be it corny. I hope that we find that again, however we do, that joy of love, that love of possibility.
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