Missing this one and making fun of him constantly…come home @big_lakers_fan !! #tbt 🇺🇸>🇯🇵 (at CampLand , San Diego)
Life is really, really weird sometimes.
Big bro & I have been playing games in this backyard for our whole lives. Second slip n’ slide of the summer! @jake_wfey (at The Shrieking Shack)
You’ve been away, your hair blond from sun—
not seeing you serves
the opposite effect,
distance gives over to intimacy.
The wake from a boat. The city anchored
across the river, a series of shadows.
I crumple the paper from an ice cream cone.
Your hand rests on the iron arm of the bench.
Is this what the end
affords—no further use for worry?
It’s getting dark earlier again;
there won’t be many more days as mild as this.
Let’s sit here a little while more.
Drenched, by myself, foot stomping to my two favorite bands at the most beautiful venue I’ve ever been to. I think yesterday was the best day of my life, and that doesn’t happen often. #soakednstoked #theavettbrothers #lucero #adventureswithme (at Red Rocks Amphitheater)
Slippin’ n slidin’ is tirin’. 🇺🇸 @kimmicordova @big_lakers_fan @deejay74 @sarahcfrankie (at The Shrieking Shack)
I dreamt this up a few years back, and I can’t seem to press pause these days.
Put down all that weight you’ve been carrying,
there’s not enough room for us both.
Better yet, let’s ask God for help. We both know I couldn’t hold it for long, and I can’t stand to see your muscles aching like they do.
You’ll agree, tell me you’re not sure where to look. You’ve always assumed I do, but I’m forever getting lost.
We’ll read the maps together, they all lead to the same place.
Let’s keep writing our story.
Make sure to start at the beginning,
with my tender youth and
your heavy heart.
We can argue over whose draft is prettier.
(I’d relive that summer a thousand times over. I’ll tell you everything.)
We’ll find our place on that rock at the beach, and you’ll kiss me
‘til the sun comes up,
making up for all that lost time.
When we need a breath, you’ll show me the scars you hid before.
I hope they’ve healed well.
Those waves will take with them the last of our regrets,
so by morning,
we can put up a good fight.
Our mothers will roll their eyes, and we won’t argue with them.
They’ve lost their loves in ways far more tragic than ours.
We’ll toast to them
for standing after all this time.
Once we’ve won, we’ll spend our summers on porches
reading out loud
writing love letters
laughing, kissing like mad
and getting better all the time.
We’ll learn to run toward each other.
Maybe it will stay a dream, and I’ll relearn how to use the remote.
Maybe I’ll finally start looking for others,
let go of the way your skin felt on mine,
learn my way around someone new,
stop shaking at the thought,
stop loving you,
even after all these years.
Ours will be my tragic love story,
the one I’ll share with my daughter when her heart first breaks,
and not any sooner.
I’ll start with the first sentence of the draft I thought I’d write:
“If we’re all just art,
he was a masterpiece.”