Z is for Zoo...

My life is a zoo. In all aspects of the idea of one's life being a zoo. It is filled with animals. It is filled with cages. The refreshments are shit and expensive. And it is free.

I've only been to one zoo in the last fifteen years or so, the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. And it is free. So all zoos are free, right?

Look at this, look at this project. I like to think it has been about You; but it has been about me. Every single sentence, every single thought; Me.

I've been nothing but honest in these pages. I leave out little details, or adjectives, because I can. I think I do a good job of showing myself to be the bad guy when I am. But I'm probably a little short in that aspect. It is ok.

This is my preface. This is my life. This is a zoo. This is a fucking mess.

And I am happy.

So let's go.

It is 4:30(ish) in the morning. There was an art show. I showed art. And the band played. Good. It was nice. Now here is where you come in.

Total honesty.

That is what we always said. A couple days before that first night, when we threw all the bullshit out the window, I was so honest with you about the state of my affairs, my life, my pain, and my happiness that you were honest back. We were having shit days. And every day after that, every single fucking day, total honesty.

Not any more.

You barely talk to me. Ever. And when you do, well, honestly, all you care about is getting back the painting you gave me.

I gave you a painting.

I don't want it back.

All of my friends had to hear about you, all of the time. Lovers and ex-lovers offered their advice on you, me, my ability to fall in love to fast and your possible ability to destroy me. But you know that.

Everyone knows that.

You came to the art show. You gave me a one arm hug. You should have just held my hand like Vanessa Escamilia did Memorial Day weekend, 1999. Fingers out, nothing coming back, like I told you about. You didn't talk to me. You didn't notice all of my art.

And you left.

You left before the band played. You left before we could catch up. You left before I could see how things were now, a month after seeing you last. You gave me no chance. You gave me no decision. You gave me no thought. And you gave me no hope.

But you sent me a text 3 minutes after walking out the door, right before we played, to ask about getting your painting back.

You can have it.

I don't want to be reminded of you anymore.

I started painting because of you. I wanted to impress you. I wanted to have something in common. I wanted to have more to talk about.

And then I started painting for you, about you. I was already writing about you, on here and in poems I threw together on trains.

I fell in love with you.

I missed you every second of the day. The slightest thought of you made me smile. I counted the minutes until I saw you. I knew when we worked together, I knew when we didn't. I listened to bands and songs you recommended. I thought about you all the time.

I am listening to a mix. Its for a road trip, a long drive. It is for a drive that I didn't make to you, for one I will never make.

I can't hold a flame for you anymore. I can't. That flame burned me.

Maybe you are the one that got away. Maybe I am the one that got away. Maybe we can't have people. Maybe all of this hurts too much to think about.

I fell hard. I gave my all. And at times it seemed like you did too. Or you were close.

Maybe you were. I can only trust the things you said. You never would have lied to me...

I told you once that you were my muse. That you inspired all sort of things in me. I never lied to you. I meant every single fucking word that came out of my body. I told you that I couldn't wait to publish books so I could put in the beginning of every single one "For Gina".

Gina, I loved you. It might have been too soon. It might have been at the wrong time. It might have been misplaced. I might have fucked up and let everyone see my heart on my sleeve. But, it was there. I meant it. I felt my heart pound. I saw the thoughts run circles around my head. I couldn't contain myself around you.

But not tonight.

Total honesty: things changed.

And I didn't change them.

This might not be a book. And this is definitely not the beginning. And it is closer to the end then we, or this, or it, or us have ever been. And I owe you this.

For Gina,
I never saw this coming.

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