300 miles

300 miles between us won't fix much of anything...
but we stay. on our respective sides. one to the east, one to the west.
i don't belong on the east side, but here i sit. waiting, wondering, fuming, musing, missing, screaming.
i belong in the west. on our prairie. where your wise words and jokes flow like the cannonball.

i know you don't remember. i just couldn't back down. i had to stand my ground. i think on any other day you would have been proud. but that day, it was too hot. it was too much. it wasn't ok. it was too hot. our tempers were too hot. and 300 miles between us won't fix much of anything..

stubborn and strong we are. stubborn and strong we remain. no sound on either side. bloody war. no smoke signals, no nothing. it's silence for 300 miles. a very loud, prominent silence. the absence of sound cuts through my heart like a knife. on that day, one red truck went east, one went west. no goodbye. just tires on the pavement. spinning. racing.

daily thoughts, i bury. i put them away. i put them in a box and tape them up. 300 miles of silence. 300 miles is a long way. what could i say. what should i say. how do i begin. i can't apologize. i can't make a joke. i can't stand these goddamn 300 miles.

that day, heading east. tires on the pavement. tears in my eyes. ache in my heart. i can't carry on this way. with these 300 miles of silence. something has to give. it has to be me. maybe a song, maybe the mutton tale, maybe...maybe...just erasing 300 miles. because 300 miles between us won't fix much of anything.

102 feathers found

I listen to my "Take the Money and Run" Pandora channel in the evenings most of the time. Right around the time my dad should be cooking dinner. I sit at the table, doing my homework, it goes on and on. I can't help but wish I was in the kitchen dancing around, giggling and throwing eggs and potatoes at each other saying "think fast."

We dink around. That's what we do. No one gets me giggling like my dad. And I'd like to say I do the same...Pretty close anyway. We have code words, inside jokes, outside jokes, made up songs.

Apart from all the laughter, there's been stern support. Big hands lifting me up, patting my back. These aren't even my favorite things. I would think the dinking would be. But what makes a lump in my throat and a swelling in my chest is when I think about all the things he has told me. All the stories, all the truths about the world, all the common knowledge every small town north dakota kid gets. Whatever he tells me, I store it away. Remember it deeply. Often his thoughts pop into my head. Like when I was home last, frantic about a photography assignment I dragged him along to show me forgotten homesteads. The first story was about a feather. Ridin his bike this summer he saw a feather for about five days in a row. And he thought, "hey, I've seen a feather every day. Im'ma count the sums a bitches." I saw a feather today. I thought, huh. 102 feathers he saw before the cold sent the birds flyin.

Take the money and run....

willow

i don't particularly know why today is so hard. somewhere buried you were in my thoughts. 

it's just so hard. fall is so hard. november is worse. and the holidays... 

walking into the mall today, i swore it was you. 

your coat. your scarf, your stance, your crooked fingers.

the woman was picking out a hallmark card. definitely a crown on the back... it makes me smile.

it makes it hurt. oh it makes it hurt.

it's empty and solemn. cold is moving in. leaves are being gathered.

fall is so hard.

i went there, to the mall, where i saw the old lady to get a new phone.

i thought everything had backed up onto my computer perfectly.

but despite my best effort, all of my memories didn't transfer over.

my last birthday call from you, didn't transfer over.

it's gone. like you. sometimes it was just nice to hear you one last time.

i have to stop crying now because my roommate will be home soon. 

which means i should stop writing.

i don't know what to do...

it's just so hard.

Cha cha cha changes.

In about four weeks I will be moved in to a house.

A rented house, deemed Alpha by the management company.

I will live in that house with him.

and him.

I think I will use this as an outlet, if anyone is still out there looking at this... 

It's gonna get interesting. Probably terrifying. And very humors. 

C out.

and most of all, i miss the wind.

i believe my dad when he talks about spirits.

i believe that they don't exist in a city. 

i believe they are on the prairie, near home. that they dwell in the quiet places of peace. where the soil is good and the wind howls. i believe that they are there for themselves and for us. all wrapped up in one. sometimes i get so lonely here. in this city. like i can't even breathe. i feel like i'm wasting. wasting time. wasting myself. i miss the prairie. i miss the wind there. i miss the smell and the colors. to me, there is nothing else i need to believe. 

i am so terrified about wasting this time. i want to drop everything and go home. walk with my parents along the river. talk to my dad about spirits. about everything. i wish i was done with school and i wish i didn't have such a tie to the relationships i've made here sometimes. it's heartbreak. it's the worst heartache. i can't bare to leave them either, but i can't bare to stay away from my home. 

how do people grow up?

i believe my dad when he talks of spirits.

i believe that they don't exist here in this city.

i believe they are waiting for me on the prairie, near home.

it's heartbreak.

5.365; 6.365; 7.365

 5.365; i hate this.

will revisit the idea on a later date.

 6.365; but i've been a fool and i've been blind.

 7.365; reflection.

7.365; reflection.

4.365

4.365; and the world, spins madly on.