walla.

My town is full of ghosts. 

There are roads I've driven down, different each time.

The fields are never the same

and the ditches widen with every rush of winter water.

Full of shadows of people who were truly kind.

And people who smoked their cigarettes around the corner;

it bled into the bedroom window.

Street blocks frame pictures of dead days.

Mailboxes we graffiti'd.

Rooms we filled with music and kisses and homemade meals.

There were animals who ran away to new families, after the fireworks.

I wonder who else has stood in the doorways of our old place on College Avenue. 

Maybe also who wept there. 

Have they found the things I lost there?

My town is full of ghosts, 

And homes I've built and will never return to. 

But it is still my town. 

I will always remember you, 
static whipping from underneath wool socks;
and fingertips hardened by stones.
But a heart softened by smiles from strangers.
Monkey feet and planets for eyeballs. 
You were an explosion in the sky, 
and you lit the ground a blaze around me. 

building things; building love.

Nick built me a new kitchen table yesterday. It has that nice dusty Home Depot smell to it and after we sand the shit out of it, we're gonna stain it a dark chocolate brown. It's going to double as extra counter space. We keep talking about finding a good piece of property and starting work on a home; noting places where we can find discounted or scrap wood, and how so-and-so is getting rid of this or that and maybe we could get it for free, etc. The table is just the beginning. Building something is a slow process, it takes patience and resolve, love and determination. Sometimes its fun to just wing it, other times you gotta plan it out; put pencil to paper and draw a frame. So we're starting with the table, and we'll take our time and one day, we'll get to put up some real walls and sit back to admire what we've been building for so many years.