i (you) turn into your (my) arms

Chance set up the constellations
 through which we
astral traveled
legs tangled
deep kissing
hair tangled up
i (you) turn into your (my) arms

i wish you knew how much you always meant and still mean to me
im feeling real bad like part of me died or is lost

 im just gonna be sad and depressed about it all
 and without any closure
 you were i was the only one
 for me for you

 i wish that i could be given a pass
 and i (you) could see you (me) and we could embrace
 and watch the drama go by and smile
 together. again

 its really over
its never ever
 never again

will we never
 work through this?
 why?

 i can understand
 but only if you (i) tell me (you)
 but if you cannot tell me
i can understand that
 too

 i want to thank you. you
enriched my life almost
 every day and
 im sorry we had to go and fuck
 it up with our terrible fighting
tears are coming out my eyes
 right now as i write
 i miss you so bad
 but what do we have?

 eternal
 gratitude for our smiles and the
 kinda monotonous days we
 spent together walking around
 arguing and laughing and holding
 hands. playing the scratchers.
coffee. pastries. chinatown.
 sharing music and rearranging
 all the fucking furniture at 2am
 almost every day. my god.
 the rose garden. the echo glen.
 the walk between Annes house
 and Moss. all the amazing gifts
 we found on the sidewalks! the
 clothes the toasters the microwaves
and printers and tvs and copiers and
 nightstands

 the times we had our place so
setup and clean and we just fell into
 eachother on some secondhand
 mattress somewheres.
 and all the tea. i will
 always remember how you had tea
 for me all the fucking time. wow
 thank you

i love you so much for
 that. and for all the times you felt my
 six pulses or whatever and diagnosed
 me in the eastern style. took your time
 to explain it to me. the wind. the
 dampness. the cupping. the kidney and liver
imbalances you would help me to
 address. acupuncture

the way you (i) cared 
for me (you)

 reading and writing together
 watching tv. whatever
 im sorry
fuck
 what can i say?
 have a nice rest of
 our lives... i mean

your life
my life

- KatYa  based off a letter i wrote in 2012

Journal # 03.21.15

 What is left for us is a chance. A chance to wake up again. A chance to rest from the maddening pace of the modern world. I am gonna crack the window now and let some atmosphere in. Maybe some particularly meaningful memory will drift along, so I may forget how strange and hard it can be to be alone. There. There now. You are with me. We are holding one another and it feels amazing. They might call us names but we won't care. Lesbians. Bitches. Whatever you want us to be. Because you may as well be on another planet, pressing your old aching fingers up against the glass, trying to get in. I will feel for you later. Not now. All the arrowheads soften in the glacial tug. I remember how you made me feel. Sure, I had loves before you. And you before me. But nothing was two thousand ten like you and me. Pushing over laptops to get to you. We both lived on the floor. We both lived with guys who worshipped us. We both were running out of money. We both had vices become habits.

looking at you. K by K 4 K. 2015

The pain seemed so endless, typing away at keyboards. Losing weight. Listening to Sneaker Pimps. Deeper into darkness past anything I ever knew. We both had a marginal place in our families. We both lived on the outskirts of the world of a city. We both loved wasabi peas and scratchers and arizonas. Somehow I pushed past all that and got back to you and you held me. Together we weighed under three hundred pounds. Pushovers. You with your martial arts. Sticking acupuncture needles right where they belonged. You got under my skin. I got under yours. The fleeting moments we pushed past the cats and the cardboard boxes, and fell softly into walmart pillows... and cried out the damage like bleeding? This is what lights my way to resurgence. I only wish it worked out differently. Like we could find us in the bodies of our paragraphs, again. Lord only knows... the margins of our lives.