I have never loved anyone like Jeremy. The boy who was my first gay lover and my first best friend in the earliest of my teen years. Letting go is the hardest part. When there are people who made a remarkable part in your life, and made things extraordinary for you, it's really hard to try to forget them.
Though the great and terrible things remain, fresh little memories and detail unfold the more you think of it. Well, when I think of it.
The tiny details that leave my skin to prickle in chills, my stomach to churn, my eyes to water, my lips to curve upward into a smile.
Just the little details of Jeremy are replayed over and over...
His cold hands brushing against my cheek to stop my bawling at the park after being freed from the terrible psychiatric hospital.
When he would deny that he loved me multiple times then finally gave in and we were finally happy.
The Avenged Sevenfold hat that he always wore backwards, and the makeup he poorly drew over his eyes.
His piercing laugh when he broke my heart the third time.
His dark wet short hair, dripping past his eyes in the rain as he begged to take me back.
The way we would talk on Myspace, sending IMs, blogs and poetry to each other.
I could still feel the warmness in my heart every time I think about him, still pretending that he's still here with me, watching over me like an angel. Though I know he has been.
I remember when he told me his dad slapped him when he found out he kissed a boy, and Jeremy swore that he would butcher his arm in half and that he didn't want to live anymore.
The way he held me at the skatepark, his arms around me and didn't care about the other boys who yelled and screamed "faggot as they walked by."
His friend Greg was the only one who had a car, and took us everywhere we needed to go to get away from this homophobic world.
Our promise that we would love no one else but each other.
The slang text messages he sent me the night he died, about how he couldn't take his family, their homophobic bullshit, their evil threats. And I tried to get there as quickly as I could yet it was too late. He shot himself dead.
His still, glossy eyes of pure relief, the blood shining across the bathroom floor, the smug on his face, the crumbled note in his hand.
The many days I've stayed still, all throughout the day, wishing that God could take him back. I pretended it was just a nightmare. I pretended I never met him though it made it worse.
Nightmares crawling into my soundless dreams.
Memories stuck like tattoos... I wish they could stop so I can move on.
And that I can be comfortable to love someone else.
But in the back of my mind, I can always hear him whisper, "No."
Tomorrow is the day I turn 20. After years, I never thought I would live this long. After my traumatizing past and demented exes, I thought I would have snuffed it by now, just release all the frustration out on myself. But a birthday is another day to me. My father is too stubborn and bitter to visit my new apartment for a late Thanksgiving or my birthday. Though I am grateful for the day off my boss gave me for my ambitious efforts in his business, he was sentimental enough to grant me a vacation for a week.
Everything's fair and everything's not worth to complain anymore. Times get bad, but I still ride out the depressing rain, read my favorite book, take a sip of Mascatto Wine, and sleep comfortably in my own living. And remind myself how far I've gone and that I have my own life now. I set my own rules, I plant my own destinations and goals. I pay my own taxes and bills without being financially disrupted. I partially love it.
I just don't know what to do... TOMORROW that is.
Maybe I'll just dine at my favorite restaurant.
My hair has finally grown out enough to style, and it's red again!
It's been a harsh few months, and for a while I actually considered keeping my head shaved, but I'm so glad I didn't.
I really didn't like drawing that much attention to my face...
Your head is inflated like a balloon,
your thoughts keeping you busy in your mind,
And hopefully your soul isn't prickled by the pens of blasphemy.
Floating, as the gravity is from the top and bottom of Earth,
as your spirit is contained and barricaded.
Answers are hard to find in a corrupted soul,
The incredulous ideology of cause and effect.
Life links to your brain and heart, both pulsing like the engines of a train,
The roar of enlightenment, the path of discovery will soon to lead you,
In the portal of time travel, but you won't see it's coming,
Until you have died, and your spirit has left you to review your mistakes.