#one more person tonight then ill go be (it is 2:53am)

[yutamayo]

Merry Xmayo

[subingression]

Feb. 28, 2023

its 2:53AM on a miserably cold February weekday. broken skin under three hydrocolloid bandaids plastered over my face itches terribly. i picked one spot on my cheek so badly i’m afraid to see what it looks like.

nevertheless, i smoke white mo and listen to tarot asmr and feel the heaviness of my body. i am water while my jaw is tar. it aches tonight.

while the last year of my life has been filled with autistic epiphanies, i’ve recently reached a plateau of progress. the weather gets colder, i isolate (is it the fatigue? the fear of intimacy?) for just about any reason, i regress and i cope.

when i reached out to you, i had one of those epiphanies. but softer. when i was younger and i imagined my life as an adult, i always pictured myself having an entire cabinet filled with tea. just about every kind you can think of. think Ramona. i usually go with green.

and i realized that i made that a reality. i do have an entire cabinet filled with different teas. i have a bamboo organizer and an electric teapot that lets you specify temperature and steep time. if this is what they mean when they say manifest, i think i get it.

slowly over time i delve deeper into the things i love and before i even know it, i’m onto the next one. always wanting. never content. no, its, “once i get my act together i’m gonna have it so good.” living my life passively. i’m a fucking NPC. things happen to me, i don’t seek them out. and then i proceed to waste years and dollars on opportunities i was too scared to take. at the same time, i feel like nobody can even compete with me. i’m different. i feel like i’ve earned it. earned something other than this endless silver lining.

this is turning out a bit more depressing than i would have liked but, hey, you don’t stop the flow of creativity when it hits, right?

a few months after our talk i had another soft epiphany. i’ve been trying so hard to be present and honest with myself. i cut off contact with my dad. i broke up with a toxic best friend. i sang at my sisters wedding. i felt the sting of the ocean again. i reached out to you.

i think being chronically ill has changed the way i interact with people and the world. once you’re aware of every arbitrary artillery built to indirectly damage your quality of life, it changes the way you talk about things. there has to be this constant recognition of the circumstance. a lot of people aren’t ready to have a conversation, and every time i hear an elderly relative say something transphobic i get this sting in my heart and a rush of adrenaline because i’m not going to be the person that doesn’t say anything. i have always been that person and hated myself for it. i don’t want to live passively anymore.

the only thing about that is that i have no idea how to start. if you were here, what would i do? who would we be? i debate between letting us sit in silence forever, or sending a very heavy handed message where i tell you that i think about you every day. i’ve thought about you so much you’ve become a figment. i feel your presence in my room, in a bed you’ve never slept in, when i’m walking down the produce aisle, when i brew my coffee in the morning. all i’ve got now is a shitty love song i wrote after you pulled me back in and made me feel. like magic or electricity or love. i have so much to tell you. if you want me, i’m yours.

and then i think that’s fucking insane and i would never do that. and then i think, its so easy to say it to a crowd, but its so hard, my love, to say it to you alone.

and i’ll put the song on the album because its a damn good shitty love song and our history is art, it’s beautiful to me, but for now its February and all i can do is wait for you. what are you thinking when you don’t respond? are you nervous about saying the wrong thing like i am? or do you just not care?

i know you. i wish i knew you.