The Dylan who actively wrote in this lj would not recognize nearly anything about the Dylan who exists now.
And I think that's a mainly good thing.
What I have to say to you can't be posted on your wall, because it's different from all the other posts on there. I just want to tell you that I'm sorry. You always tried to connect to me because we both had seizures, and for me they were new and scary and for you they were something you were used to and open about. I constantly questioned why you went to all of these things for teens with epilepsy or teens with seizures; yes, we were those things, but we were more than that. Why would someone let a seizure define their existence. And now, it's taken you. It's a thing I never thought about. Because they were new, my biggest fear was that other people would know that I had them and laugh about it. Or that I would have one on a date and scare people. Or that I would never be able to drive.
Death never occurred to me...but I think it did to you.
Which makes you far braver than I've ever been.
I keep thinking how unfair it is. The things that you will never do, never learn learn. You haven't stressed over ACTS, or discovered how prom is over rated. Yet, you knew how to live with the possibility of death. And that is knowledge I can not conceive.
Multiplers are family.
DC forensics is family.
Therefore, you are a piece of my family.
You will be greatly missed.
I wish I could record the sounds of my house.
Not just capturing the laughter of our friends during a dinner consisting only of food bought at the dollar store, prepared by someone so high they can't work the oven correctly.
I want moments that are insignificant. All of us just sitting in a room, Charlie playing music he decides fits the mood, just talking about black light posters and old soul singers and nothing at all. Those are the moments I want to hold on to forever-- to listen to in 20 years, and say, "these were the times we felt alive".
I got my Ohio voter registration in the mail today.
This weekend I'm going on a bus by myself to Chicago.
Next weekend I'm moving into my own house.
It's like I'm growing up or something.
Whatever it is, shit's getting real.
So I was wearing a shirt today
A shirt that you ripped off me months after we were done dating
A shirt you ripped off because you were so obsessed with my neck, and I let you rip off because I was so obsessed with being obsessed with you and not your best friend and not the guy I dated in high school.
I hadn't even thought about it when I put it on this morning, but I'm thinking about it now as it's late and I'm listening to your songs, the ones I sat through hours of recording of, and I'm thinking of how you texted me yesterday and how excited I was but I couldn't tell you because that would ruin it.
We wanted such different aspects of each other. I wanted your songwriting and your intimacy and your trust and your secrets and you wanted me in bed. Not that I minded you the other way, but I wanted to be your person who broke through all your fucking layers and you were just you for. And I loved listening to these songs because I felt like if I could decipher every bit it was a part of breaking through, even though I didn't need the songs then, I could get in one latte at a time.
I guess the point is, that's why I can't listen to your new album. The album I put hours of love into. Because that's all I have of your wall now. No matter how proud I am of this broken eggshell, the yolk and the white are somewhere else.
And while occasionally I miss the mornings I woke up, limbs curled around you, I really just miss our hours over starbucks discussing Apple and our dead dogs and our fucked up pasts.
And so they rolled up their pantlegs and walked into the river; knee deep water streaming around them.
They had met within walls; an enclosed institution with regulations and restrictions.
Yet, after so many months with enclosed in tightly packed quarters, here they were, free, in the middle of the woods.
And just for a moment, she swore she was infinite.
The only common denominator in all your failed relationships, is you.
I feel like I should make a nostalgic entry about my first year of college.
But I don't even know what to write.
I wish I could pinpoint something that describes what this year was like.
I guess it was just a melding of things.
It was crazy adventures with Charlie climbing on roofs, trying to get into steam tunnels, taking pictures of abandoned pools.
It was lying drunk on top of a parking garage with JD, looking at the stars, cuddled in 2 snuggies.
It Cheyenne and I rearranging our room till 4 am and then getting donuts and watching the sun rise.
It was the late night ice cream runs where the graveyard shift employees knew my order.
It was watching an impromptu jazz concert at 2 am at a house where I had no clue where I was.
It was crying on the art room floor.
It was dancing with dance majors, making fun of how overly dramatic they are.
It was the long drive to Cinccinati weekend after weekend.
It was playing N64 until my head hurt from staring at the screen.
It was teaching Chy what a snow plow was.
It was the stench of steamed milk that lingered on my skin after work.
It was eating Chipotle with the guy's hallway and still being a fairly competitive burrito eater.
It was having the most deep conversations I've ever had paired with the most stupid right next to each other.
It was an endless string of shows with bands I've never heard of before, or since.
It was the never fading bruises from swampass-- the most intense sport to ever be played on rolling chairs.
It was bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches, and then giving up pork.
It was meeting people far more creative, brilliant, and talanted than me, and some far less.
It was realizing I had no idea what I wanted.
It was becoming aware of the vastness of it all.
It was standing in the middle of time square, calling my mom, shouting to her and the universe, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE"
It was sitting with my closest friends, signing a lease to a house we had never seen the inside of.
It was moments that made me feel alive and times I wished I was dead.
What does that mean?
I'm from a technological generation, and we're in a technological age.
On a keyboard, space is just another character.
When writing a sentence, space isn't even a breath mark-- you need punctuation for that.
Space meerely separates words not ideas.
So, when you say you want space, do you want space or are you really looking for a tab or an enter key?
We live in an era of vast knowledge.
So, you when you say space, do you mean like in the galactic sense?
Because the universe, is perplexingly both infinite and expanding.
Is that the kind of space you want, one that is defined by Merriam-Webster as "boundless"?
Thursday night I thought Charlie was going to die.
I ended up being awake for 40 hours straight, both in the ER till things got stable and then driving down to his home town to be with his friends, worrying.
We got in a fight about a month ago.
It was big and explosive.
And it was over nothing. Legit nothing.
And as I watched him helpless in front of me, laying on a gurney, I wanted to say I was sorry.
But the thing was-- I already did.
About a million times.
I thought this would be a transformative experience, though he doesn't remember any of it (and probably never will)
Yet, it wasn't. I didn't make any revelations. Except that despite the fight, and the bit of a rift that came between what seemed like an inseparable friendship, it didn't make sense for me to be anywhere else.
But I think I knew that too.