rowan 🌙

absolutely stellar thrift find today btw

(paid 40 dollars for it)

on opposite sides of a city, we both sit grasping for a culture we didn’t grow up in. it’s ours in the way that freedom is ours, that my rented apartment is ‘mine’, that i am his.

my father and i are a complicated mess of things unsaid, but sometimes love is ‘here, i made this for you. remember when we visited the desert together? remember when we belonged somewhere? remember when the space between us was a little less silent?’

shitboy, if you were wondering. the culprit himself.

twenty looms like fog on the mountains

a cigarette in the cold, smoke curling into a sentence

but is it a sentence? does a sentence have to hold an end, a beginning, a question?

when did this poem turn a sharp corner into unfamiliarity

i meant to tell you about trees and cold stone creamery and the halloween i fell asleep before trick or treating

i meant to tell you about my father, the way he used to twirl me, the ache of adolescence buried deep in the cracks of my childhood driveway (one of them, at least. driveways are only what has happened at the end, the beginning of them)

there’s a scratch in my throat and a tremble caught beneath my nail beds and i swear, once, i almost made it out of this town.

twenty falls like the familiar snow of early november, like it has every year, like it always will.

i apologize for the ramble. i don’t mean to speak in the way i do, letting my guts heave up with each vowel, spilling out in front of you

i hope you’re warm and well and the sun no longer sets at 3 o’clock like it does back home. thank you for the birthday wishes.