Tumbled knots in my stomach,
I'm falling all over myself again.


Brooklyn, I left you? I can't believe, can't imagine, can't understand. Yeshua, you asked me to do what I said I would never do. And now I've done it.

And I have no job, and no school, and no direction. And it's terrifying and exhilarating. I read books all day, and late afternoons I begin to draw. Early evening out comes the mandolin, and nights are spent with pipes and fires and bars and southern folk.

New people and old faces, and this strange feeling that people have made up a story for me while I was gone. Did they forget who I was after I left, reinvent me into someone dashing and fashionable and.. wantable?

I have upchucked the same story over and over and over again. Why did I move to New York, why am I back now, what am I doing later.. The answers to these questions are so fluid and so complicated and so useless, the story is different every time.

Why isn't I DON'T KNOW enough? Can I just decide to not claim my story anymore?

Southern soil is in my bones and deep in my belly.
It has sweet melodies and rich feasts, slow nights and lazy mornings.

And all of this? I'm still talking circles around what matters.





He's in Vienna. Now he's stepping on a plane to Istanbul. I crawl my way 1000 miles South and East and he's 5000 steps past me in the other directions. We must have crossed paths somewhere in North Carolina. My heart shouldn't know how to fall so far down in to my belly. It should have learned long ago that great walls and muffled ears are the best medicine.

Instead I'm awake at 4:30 in the morning, thinking about a boy who turned into a man who became my friend who may never step out of my heart again.

His words are with me, there is ink to prove it. Much ink over many pages. And many words, true words.


His words have muffled mine. None have come out in weeks. At least I can admit it. Admit that someone else has captured mine, and until they are released I have nothing but jumbled slippery type.

He's in Istanbul, hey there Alabama. Months from now he'll say hello there Alabama, but will he call me home?