Love is...

Love is a gorgeous
mutual hopelessness.

On the 27th of March, this year I wrote:

Today I drove toward the sunrise
as it rose over metro airport skies
with the airplanes shrouded in clouds.
And I found an old CD by The Microphones
turned up the stereo
and listened in as Phil strummed an old guitar
loudly in my mother's car.

Earlier...

the neighbors tree waved at me and I'm sitting in the grass watching new leaves of spring move with the westward breeze while I wait for Julie. Now the clock, it's a little after 3 on a Thursday and the dog plays with a pink Frisbee. I have iced tea and the sun is shinny, and this time around it's so difficult to believe another winter is gone and deceased.
For you spent the better part of your teens
and twenties
to this point
looking for the love of your dreams.

A few times,
you were so sure
that you found her.

Simply replace all the above 'you's' with 'I's' and 'your's' with 'my's' because this is my life.


And also:

All of my closest friends are songs I've once loved
All of the great musicians
who wrote them
found comfort in
killing themselves

Goodnight, "Apple Bed"
May you sleep soundly.

So they question me, and I don't have the answers,
I say, "This thing; This love. It's an incurable cancer."
and may we all suffer the consequences.