shipwrecked on the couch.

let’s pretend 

the carpet is an ocean of sharks

like we used to, when we used to 

stay here, snuggled up together

for days.

(Source: thedustdancestoo)

you’re a memory.

i hold you

at the edges

so you don’t disintegrate

and fall between my fingers

to the floor. 

(Source: thedustdancestoo)

the buried.

i know you hold secrets

somewhere under the delicate surface

of your skin; starless memories

buried in great depths, beyond the roots

of scars and freckles. give me a map.

guide these fingers to the marks 

that are left, let them touch the shadows.

let these lips kiss the dark unfathomable

that haunts you in dreams.

(Source: thedustdancestoo)

extra innings & when seasons end - part 3

with my hands

choked up,

and my eyes 

open,

you taught me

to swing,

and to live,

bravely. 

extra innings & when seasons end - part 2

POPCORN! Get’cha POPCORN!

i still remember when you took me to that baseball game in Tidewater; it was sometime in June, i think, and i was eight.

we smuggled in mike and ikes, and hot tamales because you didn’t want to pay for the stadium food. They rip you off with the food and drink. That’s how they make their money, you would say. so, with our pockets stuffed with Dollar store candy boxes, and our baseball gloves under our arms, we climbed upwards, row after row to our seats in section 308. the upperdeck. the nosebleeds. we were somewhere near the lights and bugs, but i didn’t care. it was all magic, electric. the air was thick with the smell of hotdogs and popcorn— and the cheer of the croud, the crack of the bat, the calls of the umpire, they sent a shiver of excitement down my spine. every game i saw on tv dissipated from my mind, it didn’t do the game justice.

this, here, was baseball.

but like life, oh how a few innings change your perspective.

we were losing 1-2 in the 8th inning. i was out of mike and ikes, and the hot tamales had spilled onto the ground after a 5th inning celebration over a double. you said that we would leave in the 9th, to beat the traffic. but i wanted to stay until the end. the popcorn venders had circled through our section for the fifth time,

POPCORN! Get’cha POPCORN!

every other kid it seemed was on their second bag. i was hungry, and the way that man carried the popcorn above his head seemed to make the butter gleam in the light all the more. but i didn’t ask you for some, because i knew you’d say no. They rip you off with the food and drink. That’s how they make their money. so i just sat there, my mouth salivating.

STRIKE THREE!

three outs. inning over. i hung my head, dismayed at the display of awefulness going on before me. you tapped my shoulder, time to go. rather annoyed at the lack of offense, my empty stomach, and having to leave, i got up in a huff, crunching some of the strewn hot tamales under my sneakers. we made our way down slowly. down the rows and rows of steps, past screaming venders, and well-fed boys and girls, their fingers and faces covered in popcorn butter. my eight year-old head fumed.

the magic of the stadium, and the game, was now gone. lost somewhere between our shortstop’s error in the 6th, the 7th inning stretch, and spilled candy. 

i trudged out of the stadium with my head down, holding my empty glove that had caught no foul balls in one hand, and my empty stomach that had gotten no popcorn with the other. and when all hope seemed lost, i smelled it. that beautiful voluptuous smell of butter and popped corn hit my nostrils, like a ball on the sweet spot of a louisville slugger. i turned around, and there you stood. a red and white striped bag of piping hot popcorn in your hands. you handed it down to me, and i grabbed it with greedy little eight year-old hands. and without even the smallest thank-you, i began stuffing my face full of buttery goodness.

we walked out to the parking lot, together. my hands jammed in the popcorn bag, and your hand gently resting on my back.

as we drove home, you let me in the front seat next to you. i fiddled with the radio knob, with my butter glossed fingers, until i found the game. the annoucer was excited.

It’s back, it’s back. It’s deep! It’s over the fence! HOMERUN TIDES! A WALK OFF TWO-RUN HOMERUN in the 10th, and the Tides win!

i threw my hands up in victory, and let out a barbaric yell. the kind we’re allowed to use during sports events, but not in normal public spaces. you yelled too, with excitement, your blue eyes gleaming. you gave me a big high-five. and we celebrated together in your old white honda. we had done it. we had won. It’s too bad we didn’t stay, you said, slightly disapointed, That would have been awesome to see. still beaming, i finished off the last of the popcorn, and answered with a muffled, Uh-huh! you turned off the radio, and i laid my head back in the seat, tired. we drove on in silence.

i looked out the window, watching the lights blur by. my eyelids drooped, heavy and tired from the evening at the ballpark. sleepily i turned and looked at you, driving with a soft smile on your face. i was completely content, but still, i felt bad for being angry at you earlier. dad? i asked in a soft voice. yes jonathan?  you replied, throwing a quick glance my way. i tried to wipe some butter off my hands on my shorts, before continuing, thank you for taking me to the game. you smiled wide. you’re welcome, buddy. i had a lot of fun with you. i yawned. one of those big yawns that crinkles up your face. i did too, dad, i murmed. and then i closed my eyes.

the last thing i remember, before falling asleep to dreams of cheering crouds, and game winning home runs, was feeling you place a big strong hand on top of my tiny butter covered fingers, and say, i love you, jonathan.

looking back, i’d have to say that was the best popcorn i ever tasted.

(Source: thedustdancestoo)

empty living room.

silent

hushed voices filter in

from adjacent rooms.

whispers

of the past— 

present memories

of simple moments

and quiet hours

shared

with those we love,

those we loved.

(Source: thedustdancestoo)

recycled air.

on some nights i sit on the couch with the window open and my mind wanders. with eyes closed i let the breeze run across my bare arms, and face. i breathe it in. i exhale it. this essential of life, this eternal air. molecules and elements traveling through time. a constant presence in life, and death, and love. and as it moves across my skin and past my ear, i can almost hear your voice, like whisper, speaking to me.

you remind me of summer.

you remind me of

childhood games, like hide-and-seek at dusk,

and a glass of lemonade.

you remind me of

driving at night, with the windows down

and wind between my fingers.

you remind me of

stargazing on Cemetery Hill,

and meteorite showers.

you remind me of

the crashing waves, and the spray of surf

and cool sand between my toes.

you remind me of

the creak and smell of the bonfire wood,

and the slow dance of fireflies.

you remind me of

summer.

bedroom mobile.

orbit overhead.

plastic moon, stars, planets—

dreams suspended above me

casting shadows on the wall.

(embers)

i breathed in. 

i still could smell the smoke on my jacket. it was entwined with the fibers of cotton, nestled deep within the fabric and cloth. smoke that had passed across your lips in the quiet hours of the morning, before the sun had awoken. we were sitting on the concrete steps out front, chilled by the brisk air. our bodies were so close, i could feel you shivering. the distance between us was miles though, and we both knew it. maybe that’s why neither of us said a word. instead we just watched the orange and red embers smolder. eating away the cigarette to nothing. and then  

 you exhaled.