Liebesträume

I wanted to tell you, I plugged in some old external hard-drives today and looked through the pictures. Man, you were beautiful then in my life and kept me in orbit. But we started drifting soon after those were taken, so I don’t like them too much. I do like how you looked at me through the camera lens though. There was love in those looks. And my aperture was just right.

I think that was the best beginning to a love story I have really ever known. It was sweet and true and we delighted in future possibilities and were always passionate. I smile when I remember how much you wanted me to be posted to Okinawa or Kagoshima so that it was tropical and a good place to have some kids. You really wanted me to teach them to surf.
But it broke, well, I broke it; I broke it officially by stepping out of what had become poison and awful. And I was never posted to Okinawa or Kagoshima.

I know you are still beautiful and you live with your new man in a house around 124th St. or so. I’ve even passed you two when I was taking a break from sledge-hammering a walkway at my father’s house, or when I went to the store for cigarettes. I know you saw me then. I sure saw you two.

That’s how it goes, though, isn’t it? You observe the time while remaining aware that it is mere observation, just as I am observing this now. But as sad as that story is, I am happy that it ended. I mean, with you. You see, I love love and love stories, but it’s a real trick to get them right. Maybe you’ve found a way. I have not.

Here in Vancouver, I am adrift and have been for two years. I just don’t feel like letting the roots touch the soil for too long. I have too much momentum behind me, perhaps. Maybe. What do I know of me. Really.

Well, I do know that it is all in here. In me. I know that all of these questions and answers and fears and cures and love and hurt and terrible dreams of success and failure, of you, they all exist in here and in here only. Memories, too. I observe them, running loops, overlapping.

It feels like there is a bug in there, in my brain, always scurrying and digging and fucking around.

I’m going to Tofino, I want to be a surfer.