I go. You stay. No following.

Nobody understands.

My aunt got a rescue dog from the south as a surprise present for my three cousins. The day after they got the dog, they lost it. Go figure.

My cousin, Mason, thought that because the dog was a rescue dog, the reason why it was gone was because it was out rescuing somebody.

He’s precious. The dog is found now, by the way.

Also, yesterday, he hit me with a balloon and said, “I’m sending you back to the underworld!!”

School, crying, back to school at 6:15.

I’m so mature.

• …do I hate Mumford & Sons so much?
• …do I have six pieces of gum in my mouth?
• …do I text people when I know they aren’t going to text me back?
• …do I obsessively check my phone?
• …do I download so much music?
• …am I so stupid?

“I do not exist,” we faithfully insist sailing in our separate ships, and in each tiny caravel - Tiring of trying, there’s a necessary dying like the horseshoe crab in its proper season sheds its shell. Such distance from our friends like a scratch across a lens, made everything look wrong from anywhere we stood. Our paper blew away before we’d left the bay, so half-blind we wrote these songs on sheets of salty wood.

You caught me making eyes at the other boatmen’s wives and heard me laughing louder at the jokes told by their daughters. I’d set my course for land, but you well understand it takes a steady hand to navigate adulterous waters. The propeller’s spinning blades held acquaintance with the waves as there’s mistakes I’ve made no rowing could outrun. The cloth low on the mast, like to say Ive got no past, but I’m nonetheless the librarian and secretary’s son with tarnish on my brass and mildew on my glass. I’d never want someone so crass as to want someone like me.
But a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure and I assure you, it was not what it expected it to be!
I still taste its kiss; that dull hook in my lip is a memory as useless as a rod without a reel to an anchor-ever-dropped-seasick-yet-still-docked captain spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel. Floating forgetfully along, with no need to be strong, we keep our confessions long and when we pray we keep it short.

I go. You stay. No following.