This is supposed to be a journal about how I haven't been writing.

I have a couple pages worth of short story that has no plot and that I decided not to finish for some reason or another. I think it was because I didn't know how to finish it. I feel like I need a great big bang of an ending and I can't find one. I might try to finish it tonight.

Seems I've taken the summer off. Maybe I want to save all of the creative juice for my writing class in the fall. Maybe I'm uninspired. Maybe I'm just lazy.


You. I wanted to say your name just now, to spell it out, all five syllables, all fifteen letters. I still respect you too much to do it.

I've been dreaming of you again. You're not a superhero anymore. You're broken and fucked up like I am. You're also perfect because for a few minutes you're here and I can talk to you again. Sometimes it feels like I'm falling apart so badly again that I'll never recover.

So much has happened and I wish I could tell you. I wish this didn't have to be public. I wish I could tell you about the dreams, how many they've been and how intense.

In the last one you were here and you were holding me and I said, "I'm so scared that I'm going to wake up and you're going to be gone again and I can't keep losing you like this." You held me tight and told me that wouldn't happen, that it was real and that you wouldn't leave me again. And I woke up and I wanted to die because you're not supposed to know that the world is going to disappear again in a dream.

I dream of phone calls, where you finally answer me. I dream that you're at my father's house looking like you biked each of the thousand miles between us. I dream that we're sitting in some shitty little car and you're telling me that you're moving away and I see Sharon driving a big red truck with a bunch of boxes in the back and I want to laugh at how absurd it is to think of you telling me in person that you're leaving me.

Two weekends ago I fell apart completely. It was the middle of the night and I was standing on the bridge overlooking Highway 280. I watched the traffic appear beneath my feet and disappear on the horizon and somehow it reminded me of you. I ended up slumped over the railing reaching out to the passing cars whispering to myself about how they were gone, never coming back and I just kept repeating, "Where is he?" because I couldn't believe that you weren't there when I needed you. I thought that you'd somehow materialize simply because you had to, because you couldn't stay gone anymore, because you'd punished me enough and because I truly thought I would die if you didn't come take care of me.

I scared a lot of people that night. I tried to die because I thought you'd come. I couldn't say anything that didn't somehow relate to how much I needed you.

I don't know if I'll ever get over the image I have of myself reaching out for the cars and saying, "Come back."

I wish I were making this shit up. I wish you'd read this. And if you did read this, I wish you'd actually care. And if you actually cared, I wish it would be enough for you to come back.

I don't think the dreams will ever stop and I hate that most of me still believes you'll talk to me again.

You know I didn't deserve this.

Gemelo. Please.

Come Back.