3am

it's one of those nights when i get the urge to call you.
and i thank god my phone is disconnected and i can't find a pen.

there will be no letters - no texts and no emails.
the cable company never bothered to send a notification of termination, but that's fine.
3am's have never been great times for me.
they remind me of the cell phone you brought me for christmas and the alarm it had that i never learned to set.

and the gifts you buy now - for him - are probably better
and understandably.

so i write cheap messages like this
hoping you happen upon it while surfing through your cookies
and you'll call just to say you miss me.

i love you still.
is that a crime?

called my ex and said...

his sneakers were sort of worn on the bottoms.

he carry around an old soul.
he smelled like my granddad's sheets.
not the granddad i liked most - but the other one.
the one who wore too much cold spice even when he went to his factory job.

but i love him anyway - i think.
this guy - not my granddad. of course i loved my granddad.

i'm kind of shy and he could tell
so all that came from my mouth was 'so they make them like you in LA?'
that wasn't much of a shy line, i guess.

after he laughed at the corniness i realized there was so much more i wanted to say.

i want to break out into 'darling nikki' songs by prince in the middle of hollywood boulevard.
i want to call him names just to make sure he never takes me too serious.
i want him to hate it when the ignorant throw money in the air in the club.
"why make it rain when the world needs sun," is what i'd want him to say.

i want him to be a basketball fan so i can lie about liking the sport then call out the wrong name. i'd say something stupid like "go lebron" when it's probably really derek fisher.

wait.
derek fisher does still play basketball right?

i want to use pick up lines on the third date just because i know they wouldn't have worked in the beginning.
i'd say:

'i'm trying to figure out how to put you on my roster - you will never know the comfort of the bench - i will always need you in the game'

and after he rolls his eyes - and giggles
he'll say

'all you have to do is ask'

now he up in my spot
telling me the things i'm telling him is making him hot
and we're vibing to the roots

being comfortable on this planet we've flown our matching spaceships to.
not equipped with rearview mirrors.

and he runs his fingers along the dried paints on the canvas above my headboard that i long ago forgot existed - and he swallows - and asks: why does he look like me - with green eyes?
and i tell him the truth

i don't know
i think maybe i've dreamed of you before
jealous of the one who posed for this portrait

and now all i want to do is call my ex and say:
now i know why it looks nothing like you.
you wanted to own the universe.
i was content with a couple of planets and a red sunset tattooed on our inner eyelids.

taught him something.

he hadn't quite learned everything.

after we fucked - then showered - then faked a few kisses he handed me my shirt and asked if i'd ever return.
i sat back down and we watched frasier.
he was used to niggas who'd flush and go - then become infrequent messages in his inbox and a dick picture in his picture mail.

so when i needed to talk - i'd call
and each picture he had of me had been admired by his mother
"he's handsome" she said

so we stopped fucking for a while so he could learn.
i told him love was a misunderstanding between two fools.
and as long as i didn't give him a reason to love me - he shouldn't.

we became fools who strolled by monuments
and planted sunflower seeds at the bottom of rabbit holes

and i told him:
i do not love you because of who you are -now- to me
or what i believe you may become.

i love you because when i call you - you answer.

grabbed the moon

so last night i grabbed the moon.

we've somehow managed to lock ourselves in ever room of the house with a doorknob and coexist in the exact same spaces.
i guess we've done what my seventh grade science teacher said was impossible.

today i pressed my back against a beach chair and wrote you a letter you will never read.
at least until i die - or you do - and i have to read it at your funeral.

i pressed my back against the seat and remembered your back pressed against the marble-top island in your kitchen that time we thought we'd create sex stories with our clothes on - and your blinds open.

i opened your letter with: "big head"
in case you find my book and decide to be nosy.

you are not on this island with me.
damn you and your shit to do.
one day i want to nikki giovanni you.
kidnap you like the poets do.

we can eat fish from sticks on islands with names that are hard to pronounce while watching the water roll across your ashy feet.
(i just laughed out loud for real)

i pressed my back against the chair questioning whether or not we'd be able to lock ourselves outside.
build an imaginary box around us, wondering if the the beach-goers are watching.
they will be.

i always seem to capture the sunsets when i miss you.
this time, i captured the moon too.
and grabbed it - hoping customs allows me to bring it to you.

received a call.

so last night i received a call telling me to call my frat brother's fiancee because there had been an accident, and "he may not be doing so good."

i called.

in fact, he wasn't doing well at all.
there had been an accident and his lung was punctured by his broken ribs,
and had it not been for the cops and ambulance showing up when they did
maybe his heart wouldn't have started pumping again.

-"what?! where are you?! where is he?!"
-"we're in washington hospital in DC"
-"i'm in DC. i'm coming up"

although i don't have as many friends as my facebook profile claims, i do have plenty.
i've been blessed to touch the lives of many, and have them touch mine in return, and they know that i love them dearly.
and many of them know that i will do whatever they need.
i've stood in ben's chili bowl preparing to fight an ex-redskin for a friend.
i've jumped over crowds of pumping fist to help a friend whoop someone's ass.
and my frat brothers already know what the deal it regarding how far i'll go.

i told his mother while i held her son's hand: he's probably the craziest, strongest guy i know. he'll make it out of this. this is much easier than pledging in the south. you know you have to be a special person when one person gets the message, and within seconds hundreds are calling trying to find room and board for a few days because they need to see what's going on with their friend.

and i wanted to write.
but nothing came.
until now.

i'm realizing i've been pushing to hard for the survival of some of my friendships.
so i'm allowing them to fade to black.

sometimes we need to realize when we've outgrown some.
and when some have outgrown us.

for the past few months i've been going to the park alone, finding myself the only big kid on the see-saw, hoping one of my friends would show up.

not the friends i drink with on thursdays at grand central.
or visit the poetry spots with on occasion.
or the friends who give me a key to their house and let me fry fish with the bedroom door wide open, stinking up their clothes...
those are the friends who always show up.

i wait for the friends who have directions to the park
but never seem to show.
the friends who celebrate my birthday without me watching lost episodes of BET shows, attempting to apologize.
i wait for them.

so my brother started shaking a little, and i grabbed his blanket and put them over him, and greeted his father as he walked in the room, and listened while his fiancee gave the updates.
and i wondered how many people he waited for that didn't show up as soon as they knew.

i won't wait for you to show up.
i know who's coming when this happens to me.
because i will pick my friends like i have always picked my fruit.

and in 7 hours and 28 minutes i will be back in my brother's room, holding his hand, telling him that everybody that needs to be there is there, or has been, or will be.

and i pray that he squeezes my hand back and attempt to say the same thing.