This isn't an easy conversation to have.
I'm not sure I will ever be able to convey these words is a succinct form.
All I ask is that you take the time to read these words from top to bottom in entirety.
After that you can do what you will with it.
Keep it as a momento Burn it.
So here I am, in the 22nd century,
typing to you my thoughts from a black and silver keyboard made up of 109 keys,
which technically equals 1 (1+9+0 = 1Ø = 1)
which technically equals the lifepath of of a number 1
which is a natural born leader
which maybe the inventors of the keyboard were trying to convey but thats beside the point.
As is, the fact that the number 108 is a sacred number of Buddhism a
s portrayed on malas and other religious hoodoo.
I stray.
We went camping and you came with.
I drove you in my car and we listened to Johnny Cash.
You said I had good taste in music and we shared a love of avocados.
That night we bonded and laughed and drank.
You introduced me to brass monkeys and slept by my side next to the fire.
In the morning I did my usual routine of waking early. It felt good to wake up with you by my side.
I was surprised to find you awake when I returned from my morning dip.
We cleaned the site around and I left for town.
Shortly after I returned home I found a message from you online.
You asked if I had your cellphone in my car.
I mentioned you'd made it home before the others.
I did have your cellphone, and said you could come grab it any time.
Soon you were at my bedroom door and we were alone. I felt lucky.
We drove to the beach and listened to Silver Jews in the car.
I told you I knew a spot on the Res beach.
We crossed the train tracks.
We wandered the forest paths.
We couldn't find the beach.
I suggested we pitch a chill in a hobo grove. I threw a blanket down and we relaxed.
Your fingers found the banjo and I wrote some words in a journal.
We recited past poems and lyrics to one another.
I initiated a game of truth or dare.
Eventually it circled round to my turn again.
I asked "Truth or dare?"
"Truth"
"What's on your mind right now?"
"I really want to kiss you."
I smile a big eye crinkle smile and lean in close.
Our lips, our hands, our hearts, run wild.
The scene is a white tarp slung from the trees,
a tie dye tank top,
an empty bottle of fireball
and a mexican blanket.
I'm too dazed to notice the dozens of bloody scratches the blackberry brambles left on my legs on the hike in.
I look at you and think it's safe to call you a Salty Dog.
This is foreshadowing.
The following week we hang out a lot more.
I invite you into my room, into my house, into my life.
You say you're leaving for Quadra next week.
I believe you.
A dramatic week rolls by.
I support you through your 3 year relationship break up.
I believe the things you tell me about your relationship, your plans, your life.
At the end of the week, you push the leaving date back another week.
I check with my roommates and we all agree that it's cool for you to stay.
But then things start to change.
The behavioural issues increase.
I notice your lack of sleep.
Not once do you go to bed before me.
Often, if at all, you crawl into bed early in the morning.
Sometimes you wake up with me, and seem energetic but scattered.
You laugh a maniacal laugh.
You lose things
and break things
and use things
without asking.
The house looks like a mess, and I remind you daily to respect our space.
This turns into a manic depressive episode a week later.
The house is a complete disaster.
All the food and beverages I just bought are absent from the fridge.
A handful of stringed instruments in the house have broken strings.
The beloved house record player speaker has been blown.
A windows shattered.
The table is stained in black ink.
The shower head is broken.
The watering can is missing.
My own roommates are avoiding our house because of what I've brought in.
I try to work that week but can't remove you from my thought patterns.
I'm worried about my roommates.
I'm worried about me. I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.
You have blood and ink running down your arms and legs as you carve "tattoos" into your skin.
I try to calm you by speaking gently and slow.
You talk a mile a minute- upset, rambling, swearing, manic.
You say you love me and hate me in the same sentence.
You say I'm ruining your life.
You don't apologize for the messages you've sent me.
I try to get a word in and you flip out.
I'm actually quite frightened of you.
I pack your things into bags and haul them to my car.
You say you're going to replace one 6-pack of cider from the weeks worth you've been stealing.
You have no money.
You are a pathalogical liar.
You are not the Kyle I met.
I'm not sure if I ever really met Kyle.
The house has had enough of you.
R asks you to leave the house and not return for a month.
I explain to R that you're displaying manic bipolar tendencies based on my past experiences and
nothing he says can get you to hear him.
You agree you'll stay away.
The next morning you wake up by jumping through my bedroom window.
To this day I hate sleeping in that room.
I tell you to leave, you're not supposed to be in the house, and that i'll meet you on the porch.
You not wearing any pants or shoes and running around in your underwear.
Your feet are falling apart.
That night you come to me, crying.
Remember that time I washed your sore feet?
Dabbed them dry with a towel and kissed your forehead?
You came into my bed that night weeping.
You told me it was the first time you had ever felt safe.
I held you in my arms and wiped tears from your eyes.
I held you and kissed you.
I tried to remove some of your pain.
You continued to act out.
You said "I am a God. I am Buddha. I am an enlightened being. I have powers."
You said your knife could cut you and you wouldn't bleed.
You rambled on and on about your "medicines".
The next morning you were driven to the hospital.
After 6 hours of accessing you, you were omitted to the psychward.
Rich and Max wouldn't talk about you to me for days.
10 days went by before any of us felt it was safe for me to contact you.
You drove up to my house on Sunday looking sharp and dressed in all black.
You had spectacles and we embraced.
I smoked cigarettes and met you at your parents.
You were sane, normal, off drugs and on meds.
I visited you in the ward and brought you burgers.
You drew me a picture.
Later, the bed of a dead bird.
I went to Saskatoon and we talked on the phone each day.
You spoke to me of your plans:
You going to buy a car
You going to get your license
You going to go to Quadra
You going to go to Vancouver
You're finishing your album
Your selling you computer
You fixing all the things you broke and lost at Crace
You're doing to upgrade classes
You're going to Harvard
You're going to be a quantum physicist
You're going to art school at Emily Carr
You're going to start working at firehouse
You're going to work for Akeel
You're selling medicine
You're working for the hospital, they want your medicine
You're going trainhopping
You're moving into a condo by the oxy
You're moving into Daves
You're camping out in Dave's yard
You're not doing drugs anymore
You tried some drugs today but it's not what I think
YOU'RE BI-FUCKING POLAR. It's ok. Many clever people over the years have been. But at least they had the decency to admit this to other and themselves. You, you're in denial.
Finally they released you and the phone conversations became fewer and farer.
The last time we spoke you hung up on me.
Because I am an adult woman with her shit together.
I'm a catch.
I deserve someone who can paint a wall.
Someone who doesn't steal from me and lie to me.
Someone who has dreams and goals and a job.
Someone who treats me out to a meal for a change.
Who is romantic.
Who holds doors open for me.
Who calls me beautiful and smart and really means it.
I cared about you Kyle, I was willing to give up a lot to take a chance with you.
But if there's one thing I've learned from people it's that you can't change people.
You've ruined a lot of friendships and trust with this reckless behaviour.
Until you can stop trying to hide from yourself you will be unable to see.
Everyone said I was making a bad move and now I agree.
Kyle, this isn't working.
Check in if you ever get your shit together but I'm pretty sure it'll be too late.
I wish you clarity and peace of mind.
May you be healed from this demon inside you.
I'm not sure I will ever be able to convey these words is a succinct form.
All I ask is that you take the time to read these words from top to bottom in entirety.
After that you can do what you will with it.
Keep it as a momento Burn it.
So here I am, in the 22nd century,
typing to you my thoughts from a black and silver keyboard made up of 109 keys,
which technically equals 1 (1+9+0 = 1Ø = 1)
which technically equals the lifepath of of a number 1
which is a natural born leader
which maybe the inventors of the keyboard were trying to convey but thats beside the point.
As is, the fact that the number 108 is a sacred number of Buddhism a
s portrayed on malas and other religious hoodoo.
I stray.
We went camping and you came with.
I drove you in my car and we listened to Johnny Cash.
You said I had good taste in music and we shared a love of avocados.
That night we bonded and laughed and drank.
You introduced me to brass monkeys and slept by my side next to the fire.
In the morning I did my usual routine of waking early. It felt good to wake up with you by my side.
I was surprised to find you awake when I returned from my morning dip.
We cleaned the site around and I left for town.
Shortly after I returned home I found a message from you online.
You asked if I had your cellphone in my car.
I mentioned you'd made it home before the others.
I did have your cellphone, and said you could come grab it any time.
Soon you were at my bedroom door and we were alone. I felt lucky.
We drove to the beach and listened to Silver Jews in the car.
I told you I knew a spot on the Res beach.
We crossed the train tracks.
We wandered the forest paths.
We couldn't find the beach.
I suggested we pitch a chill in a hobo grove. I threw a blanket down and we relaxed.
Your fingers found the banjo and I wrote some words in a journal.
We recited past poems and lyrics to one another.
I initiated a game of truth or dare.
Eventually it circled round to my turn again.
I asked "Truth or dare?"
"Truth"
"What's on your mind right now?"
"I really want to kiss you."
I smile a big eye crinkle smile and lean in close.
Our lips, our hands, our hearts, run wild.
The scene is a white tarp slung from the trees,
a tie dye tank top,
an empty bottle of fireball
and a mexican blanket.
I'm too dazed to notice the dozens of bloody scratches the blackberry brambles left on my legs on the hike in.
I look at you and think it's safe to call you a Salty Dog.
This is foreshadowing.
The following week we hang out a lot more.
I invite you into my room, into my house, into my life.
You say you're leaving for Quadra next week.
I believe you.
A dramatic week rolls by.
I support you through your 3 year relationship break up.
I believe the things you tell me about your relationship, your plans, your life.
At the end of the week, you push the leaving date back another week.
I check with my roommates and we all agree that it's cool for you to stay.
But then things start to change.
The behavioural issues increase.
I notice your lack of sleep.
Not once do you go to bed before me.
Often, if at all, you crawl into bed early in the morning.
Sometimes you wake up with me, and seem energetic but scattered.
You laugh a maniacal laugh.
You lose things
and break things
and use things
without asking.
The house looks like a mess, and I remind you daily to respect our space.
This turns into a manic depressive episode a week later.
The house is a complete disaster.
All the food and beverages I just bought are absent from the fridge.
A handful of stringed instruments in the house have broken strings.
The beloved house record player speaker has been blown.
A windows shattered.
The table is stained in black ink.
The shower head is broken.
The watering can is missing.
My own roommates are avoiding our house because of what I've brought in.
I try to work that week but can't remove you from my thought patterns.
I'm worried about my roommates.
I'm worried about me. I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.I'm worried about you.
You have blood and ink running down your arms and legs as you carve "tattoos" into your skin.
I try to calm you by speaking gently and slow.
You talk a mile a minute- upset, rambling, swearing, manic.
You say you love me and hate me in the same sentence.
You say I'm ruining your life.
You don't apologize for the messages you've sent me.
I try to get a word in and you flip out.
I'm actually quite frightened of you.
I pack your things into bags and haul them to my car.
You say you're going to replace one 6-pack of cider from the weeks worth you've been stealing.
You have no money.
You are a pathalogical liar.
You are not the Kyle I met.
I'm not sure if I ever really met Kyle.
The house has had enough of you.
R asks you to leave the house and not return for a month.
I explain to R that you're displaying manic bipolar tendencies based on my past experiences and
nothing he says can get you to hear him.
You agree you'll stay away.
The next morning you wake up by jumping through my bedroom window.
To this day I hate sleeping in that room.
I tell you to leave, you're not supposed to be in the house, and that i'll meet you on the porch.
You not wearing any pants or shoes and running around in your underwear.
Your feet are falling apart.
That night you come to me, crying.
Remember that time I washed your sore feet?
Dabbed them dry with a towel and kissed your forehead?
You came into my bed that night weeping.
You told me it was the first time you had ever felt safe.
I held you in my arms and wiped tears from your eyes.
I held you and kissed you.
I tried to remove some of your pain.
You continued to act out.
You said "I am a God. I am Buddha. I am an enlightened being. I have powers."
You said your knife could cut you and you wouldn't bleed.
You rambled on and on about your "medicines".
The next morning you were driven to the hospital.
After 6 hours of accessing you, you were omitted to the psychward.
Rich and Max wouldn't talk about you to me for days.
10 days went by before any of us felt it was safe for me to contact you.
You drove up to my house on Sunday looking sharp and dressed in all black.
You had spectacles and we embraced.
I smoked cigarettes and met you at your parents.
You were sane, normal, off drugs and on meds.
I visited you in the ward and brought you burgers.
You drew me a picture.
Later, the bed of a dead bird.
I went to Saskatoon and we talked on the phone each day.
You spoke to me of your plans:
You going to buy a car
You going to get your license
You going to go to Quadra
You going to go to Vancouver
You're finishing your album
Your selling you computer
You fixing all the things you broke and lost at Crace
You're doing to upgrade classes
You're going to Harvard
You're going to be a quantum physicist
You're going to art school at Emily Carr
You're going to start working at firehouse
You're going to work for Akeel
You're selling medicine
You're working for the hospital, they want your medicine
You're going trainhopping
You're moving into a condo by the oxy
You're moving into Daves
You're camping out in Dave's yard
You're not doing drugs anymore
You tried some drugs today but it's not what I think
YOU'RE BI-FUCKING POLAR. It's ok. Many clever people over the years have been. But at least they had the decency to admit this to other and themselves. You, you're in denial.
Finally they released you and the phone conversations became fewer and farer.
The last time we spoke you hung up on me.
Because I am an adult woman with her shit together.
I'm a catch.
I deserve someone who can paint a wall.
Someone who doesn't steal from me and lie to me.
Someone who has dreams and goals and a job.
Someone who treats me out to a meal for a change.
Who is romantic.
Who holds doors open for me.
Who calls me beautiful and smart and really means it.
I cared about you Kyle, I was willing to give up a lot to take a chance with you.
But if there's one thing I've learned from people it's that you can't change people.
You've ruined a lot of friendships and trust with this reckless behaviour.
Until you can stop trying to hide from yourself you will be unable to see.
Everyone said I was making a bad move and now I agree.
Kyle, this isn't working.
Check in if you ever get your shit together but I'm pretty sure it'll be too late.
I wish you clarity and peace of mind.
May you be healed from this demon inside you.
