"much too blind to see the damage he's done"

re-found a friends blog, he and his other friend do this thing with a song and then an excerpt, anecdote, diary, 

::today validated yesterdays feelings, i'm holding out for it all, it all is endings, you know saying goodbye but choking out I miss you, only five years later, the opposite of buds and sprouts, inverted mindspace anyways, here are yesterdays feelings with yesterdays song::

lu—i mean sunny, i miss our sweet talksonce we were crushed to each other over messages thrown out of our stage / the magazine

i miss those clumsy hiccups, was it flirting, do i even like that word? noout of the corner of my eye there’s a shimmer, a floater on my right lens, my brown eye, lens seems plural only i’m talking of a singular object.i find your blog again, that is tumblr, that is you being S, and away from it all, at college, 

i’m lonely, and you say it too a couple times, i believe it, i believe it must be hard knowing where i am, where you are, the upkeep of relationships
i still have your voice on the edge of my heart, the brim of my smile, i can hear it, those google chats with faces, i had never even done it with friends, the magazine, seeing you, and them, and us across each others screens, something gave me confidence finding you, was finding admittance, i am maybe not straight is finally translated to i am queer

i come into crushing a person named jenn, i killed the feeling with J as i did with you, when you were L to me
i’m now visiting your friends blog, it feels like catching up, like a scrapbook i’m not invited to, don’t need to belike a space i can admire, can try to piece together a bit of the feeling, but it all comes out (in excess) tasting bad,

even the smallest plate, leaves that gross aftertaste, the sourness my mom asked me about when she had her first cup of coffee last sunday at age 62, "almost" i think, seeing mom and high numbers scares me, i know she was old when i was young, but i don’t know how long old will last, if grandma will be said in both of our presence, this is her first cup of coffee “almost” because it’s lumpy with caked up sugar, and reduced to light brown from my shakes of nutmeg dispensed into our old coffee mate(mr. coffee), poor guy, still runs, but i can only put nutmeg in when dad is gone, or else he won’t drink the coffee, will be mad

sunny i’m scared of the changes, i won’t see you change, the ones you won’t see me change to. 

it hurts to not get a letter, but I have to remember permeance, that you have a life, that a letter is a small particle of cell makeup, and your cells need space, need room, are still growing!
i’m getting good at not showing upand it feels like i’m no longer allowed to miss youa voice from me says ::you know less of the little you knew:: another says ::good job, you finally did meta::hope it all passeshope i show up, and you do too.

at night the missing comes; it makes me cough.

that i had to reblog a post, self-sabotaging my memory, hoping for you're "too!!" speaking of (today) i self sabotaged an interview with an amazing woman who directs a library at an art museum not too far from me, speaking of i tried to get my dad to change his mind when he said "its strange" he makes the simple fraction: how can someone born with certain genitalia and features / want something different, i tell him it's not so different, it's how this person has always felt, the way a body develops is out of our control, society mirrors its expectations with pink and blue ribbon's in the stork's mouth, but rejecting this isn't wrong, it's necessary.

i replay the conversation i have in therapy about feeling weird, and after i've reached the top of the stairs, dad still below, i realize what it would have been like for sunny, i realize that i feel like neither a woman or man, girl or boy, that i've tried so hard to either prove i was feminine, or prove i was masculine, that this monster has sucked me in, and somehow my friends helping me to get outside regardless, i hear a radio show he does with his friend, i hear his friend say he, and my heart grows so soft i forget its still touching my sternum::

when i hear someone, usually my therapist, remark “it’s sunny out,” now I think of you // your name is caught in the back of my throat, the itch of my left shoulder//

I want to be a 19 year old in college with you, I recently talked to someone about to have top surgery almost 10 years older than us all, I made like I was 23, their minimum, I am not 23, and am realizing it so fast now,tomorrow I’m supposed to go to d.c. but I can’t see it ever being a good thing

case (03.01.16)

it's nice to ask questions to yourself

method of getting to be whole even with a hole, 

love for you all (especially him)