ALAN NELSON

Aug 24 2014

It’s 6:03 am and the morning news begins on the television. I had just gotten home, maybe 15 or 20 minutes ago.

So far, I’ve had 3 days of 13+ hour long shifts, coming home beat, exhausted, and sleepy. Service was chaos, with refires because dumb fuck food runners who only carry 2 plates of food only come back with a deer in the headlights look on their faces, asking, “where does this go again?” I need another because it went to the wrong table.”

Ugh.

I pull into my driveway, get out of my car and basically just got naked and fell into bed. Carrots jumped up on me but I didn’t even move.

It’s nights like this when I miss you the most. Remember when I first started working for Quealy and I would come home, defeated and ready to hang up my apron for good? You were always there to remind me that it’ll only get better, and helped me relax, holding me as the weight and trivialities of work were lifted off my shoulders and being just what I needed: a supportive woman who loves me and believes in what I was doing with my life.

So I guess I’ve been missing you the most for a while now…

Aug 13 2014

Bakery Lorraine

We were one of the first people to discover the magic of Bakery Lorraine, back when we lived amongst the hippies on North Olive. I remember we would always go there and pick up goodies for ourselves or bring them in to Jo Street or grab a little box of macarons before a trip to Austin.

It was and always will be our bakery.

When we went there today, it felt like old times. The good times. Even though you’re on some stupid diet and didn’t get any sweets for yourself, I got a macaron and you took just a little nibble. I think I saw a smile on your face as it hit your lips. We even got everything for free from Eli, who was always on team Ashley/Alan. He’s got season tickets to our games :)

I guess what I’m trying to say is that going there with you today, after having not talked to each other in what feels like a lifetime, and seeing the bakery expanding and changing, and it might be a far fetched metaphor but I felt like things were going to be changing between us also. I’ll have to just wait and let what happens just..happen.

When you dropped me off, I gave you a small kiss on the cheek and dug my face in that heavenly nest of soft, sweet smelling hair. You still smell like home to me. I got out and followed you down the driveway because I didn’t want to stop looking at you. It had been so long since I got the chance to just see you up close that I wanted to make sure I got my fill before I see you again.

Aug 08 2014

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Aug 05 2014

Barbaro, one year

I got too excited, thinking you would be working tonight. I walked in and thought you would be running about, taking drinks to this table, pizza to that table.

But I’ve been okay. I know I haven’t posted anything for a while and I know you’ve noticed. But I’m doing okay. It’s taking some getting used to, not texting you and talking to you, checking in and whatever but it’s best for the both of us. Which I think is why I haven’t been updating like I used to. If I keep seeing you and writing about you, how am I supposed to “get back out there?”

Jul 28 2014

I could be like the rest of them,
And say a piece of me dies
When you leave my touch.
I have said it before.
But the truth? I never die.
I was simply reborn in your distance-

I am a version of my
Solitude
That knows I have you.
There is no reason to ache.

Being alone fuels our
Fire even more.

— Christopher Poindexter

Jul 14 2014
Jul 12 2014

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Happy birthday, Pablo Neruda

Here’s a poem from a book of Pablo’s works that I gave to you for Christmas

"The Song of Despair"

The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the warves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit oh debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song bird rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like times. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot’s dread, fury of a blind diver,
turblulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
adness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond deside and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There were thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and the ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not konw how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief was my desire of you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was the voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still broke in currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale and blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the warves at dawn.
Only the tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!

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