Open your mind to the past: Art, History, Philosophy; and all of this may mean something.

--Jean Luc Picard

Dear Matt Stanley:

You and I never really knew each other well. In fact, what I keep coming back to is the fact that I really didn't know you at all. And that, in and of itself, is a tragedy: For me to have ever assumed (even for a second) that you weren't worth my time. Now, well, you've shown me. No one is worth more time than those you never really knew. That's just it, though, isn't it? You never really regret meeting someone. You can say that you do. You can lie and delude yourself into thinking that; but the truth is, something can be learned from everything, every experience, every encounter, and, most of all, every person. Matt Stanley, you are missed. You are loved. And you have left your impact. These days are for you, and I hope you enjoy them.

“I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?" Why did I cause so much pain? Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, "No, that's not right." Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.”

Orgato

livability

I've always thought I needed to live near water. But what I've learned is that fluidity doesn't always come in the form you expect.

What's the cure when nothing is enough?

fuck all of you.

Again

Pensive is a way to describe

though to which must my heart ascribe

To your body or to your mind?

The way we move in the distance -

The dance I do when I realize

That which there is to fear: You.

Feelings fail, and love I idealize

But something about him -

Like the winter's grasp on life,

Like the torrent's flow

And it's I who've caused this strife.

Perception's rouse: Everything is green-

Induced, not created

Felt, not thought

Realized, not understated.

With him everything is actuality and

Nothing is meaningful.

I want to tell you. I can't explain why and I know (or at least think I know) that it would be a bad idea if I did. But I haven't talked to you, haven't spoken, haven't texted, haven't IMed. Yet, somehow, it feels like there is nothing else in my head. I miss you.

I want to tell you. You are the only person I want to tell. You are the only person I can't tell. I wish this weren't the case. You have been the constant ache in my head, the constant pain in my heart and the constant thing that I've wanted. I miss you.

I want to tell you. I want you to see. I want you to stop being oblivious. I want to stop assuming you are oblivious and hope that on some level you know. I want to see you. I want you to come back. I want to stop being selfish. I want to stop thinking about you. I miss me.

I want to tell you. And I want to see beauty again.