shake hands with beef.
we’ve had dramatically more interesting conversations in three weeks than we have this entire last year. i feel like we left so much to silence, and i am saddened by that. just imagine how far we could have been along right now. we could have been multi-billionaires! we could have written books. we could have had books written about us. this is what talking to him feels like. it’s like sorting through shit to figure out who you want to be. every time he asks a question i rethink my entire life, because the answer i give him is so important to me. i want it to be the whole truth. i don’t even want to hide the bad stuff. in fact, i loose the bad stuff first, for dramatic effect.
the point is, we talked about so much that it made me start hoping for some of these decisions to actually stick.
he wanted to travel boldly. i had dreams about him traveling boldly. i wanted him travel weary, smudged like a work of charcoal, sore, but sure. knocking on doors, and slamming on windows, using only what he had, realizing when he needed something more, and finding someone to gladly teach it to him.
he’s not going to get that from me. not even if we travel. i’d muck it up. he doesn’t have to sneak into north korea. it could be as simple as packing a bag and getting in a strangers car, or as complicated as a peasant journey across europe, a pack full of first aid, and his ticket home. maybe he’s wearing a bandana - a red one, and those black boots, but maybe they’re taller, they touch his shin, and make him look sure footed, ready. he’s clean shaven & newly barbered so that his face matches his passport, but only initially. and he’s scared, but excited about doing this again in three years, meeting the same people on purpose - these people he will meet - these people who will become his friends. he will bring me with him the next time, and we’ll eat dinner for free.
there were things that i talked about, too. i made decisions on being alone, on not being dependent on codependency. about remembering who i am. i’m the most important to me. that doesn’t mean that other people don’t matter, it just means that i matter the most to me. no love is unconditional such as self-love. masturbation taught me that.
when i roamed young, i’d scavenge around every nook and cranny of our little town. it’s nice. so nice, to be.
