the wind cried for me

exercises

thought training thought shaping twisted words grasping air stream of consciousness blank as i forget the words vocabulary diminishing spelling as well.

tonight alone before the edge sinks downward collapsing through the floor onto the residents tenants (sp?) below me

the mattress in the middle the roommate of my love the girlfriend of us all the one who does not lie

cannot picture you alone tonight it aches it hurts i know it’s needed the break settles in the dust hasn’t yet fallen but the words are long set in stone

twitter is ____

10 months ago, i was sitting cross-legged on the floor of a friend’s tastefully messy dorm room. the setting was light; the conversation was not. secrets were shared, tears were shed and our friendship was strengthened as we bonded over the similar misfortune that life had handed us. “people we love can be bad people,” the friend told me as she stared into my eyes. knowingly. it was that afternoon when i saw for the first time that she was not a rock, hardened to the core, like i once thought. it was just that she’d been hurt. from this hurt she developed a callous and the callous healed, strengthening her surface in the process. what was below the surface, however, the callous couldn’t heal. indeed, the callous, as effective as it was in its way, couldn’t fix what had really been damaged. its job was to toughen the exterior. of course, i didn’t have these thoughts at the time; my attention was divided and my thoughts kept returning to the one i’d loved who had hurt me.

she told me that i could turn to her whenever because she understood. she did understand, i knew that. 

we never spoke of the incidence again.

she called me out of the blue about six weeks ago, seeking advice. her roommate, who is a good friend of mine, had been disappointing her and she wanted my insight. two months prior to that, she had unfollowed me on twitter.

our conversation in her dorm room which happened 10 months ago didn’t cross my mind once during that phone call six weeks ago. i distinctly remember wondering, however (and more than once), “why did she unfollow me?”

so the long and short of all this is that twitter is kind of scary and kind of cool but mostly just way too much a part of my psyche. but i guess i should have known this around the time i started assigning value to my thoughts based on how “tweet-worthy” they were. i realize that the more i write, the deeper the hole that is this post becomes…so i guess i’ll finish that bag of ruffles that’s eyeing me over there and call this one a night.

“ellos”

post-him is the now, marked by a new he. i suppose that renders the bulk of my life simply as ‘they’…in a masculine tense, of course. spanish would be so much more useful here.