(k.)

At 1:30am I go through every second I saw you lurking without asking for permission.

At 1:31am,  I reimagine the day you kicked me to the curb as you prepared for the first step towards oblivion. Another excuse perhaps. Another song badly written, horribly danced, and ridiculously misinterpreted.

At 1:33am, I shed a tear because I’ve missed you for so long I don’t even know how many light years have passed since I smoked a laced joint and made love to you while my body exploded into a million dimensions.

Now, at 1:36an, I cursed you again for letting me go last night in my dreams. 

I think of my kids often. They look nothing like you. Their skin doesn’t taste like you. Their laughter is immeasurable and subtle unlike yours. Their sense of humor isn’t so much about being funny but they have the ability to make jokes and laugh without thinking ahead. And unlike me they remind me of the times you kissed me and promised me a future where my kids would’ve been yours. And that for sure ain’t funny, as hilarious as it sounds.

At 1:43am, I imagine myself telling you to fuck off the last time I saw you. I imagine you telling you that for the 10 years after that moment I was a blur. A nonsensical paradox. I was confused, hurt, and bored. I fucked, and drank, and did all kinds of drugs and girls that meant nothing but gave me girth and gullibility. Because I loved you for 10 years straight without a hint of you by my side. I loved the idea of you and our invisible nonexistent kids that would one day ask us how we met and how we craved and how we build together a paradoxical world filled with stars and rainbows and bullshit and blah blah blah.

1:50 could not be more wrong.

Pre-planned rabbit holes and assholes who haven’t forgotten how to forget.

At 1:51 I did not forgive.

I remember your dad. I remember your musky basement, full of untold stories of men who dressed up as trees in the desert, of seas and songs and pipes and gnomes. Of station wagons and furry dogs. Of divorced parents, of step siblings, unarmed children who dealt with all.

I remember how much I thought you were mine and how much I wished I was yours. Like the infinite abyss, and the blunders of the forgetful. 

And to think that all those years were nothing but a marketing campaign.

2:02 makes me feel hopeful and stupid.

Dave helped me with my flirt moves. Etta made your best friend jealous. Don made us laugh of nonsense. L found us a dimension to express our angst. Thom dislocated our brain waves into a million possibilities. And you and I transformed our lives forever into hearsay and past of future daydreams.

I still pretend to know what I’m talking about and I’m still good at it.

I still have a gift for gifting and I’m a damn good parent (Tuesday through Sunday 7am-9:30pm)

I’m tired of waiting for you.

You are probably tired of waiting for me.

I’m afraid of think about you.

I’m afraid you are too.

At 2:11 I called you to wish you goodnight.

This is the closest I’ve felt you in years.

And you don’t even know who I am, and who’s next to me. And I don’t even know where you’re at and who’s next to you. And your last name(s) makes no sense anymore.

But your lips always will. Even if I’ve forgotten what they taste like.

And he tastes your lips and she tastes mine. But they don’t know. They will never know.

And to you I say… a tout a l'heure.  

Ma petit chou.

July 2nd, 2025 at 2:18am