330/ January 8, 2012 - Advice, baby.

Tell your girlthing, the one you met at that poetry class in U.P., to avoid this entry at all costs. Or else she’ll know that the teal Vespa she gets to ride with you was partially paid for by me. Partially. Everything’s been repaid, of course, but admit that there are things you wouldn’t have if not for me. For example, the capacity to love back. 

(Don’t tell her that each time she wraps her arms around your waist you’ll remember my arms and how you used to tell me to hold on, hold on tighter.)

Ride that bike and that board like I didn’t teach you balance. Ride your life like I didn’t teach you balance. You’ve asked for everything back: the typewriter, the locket, Rilke (much to my objection), and if there is one thing I wish I could take away from you it would be balance.

I want you to fall and fall hard. Treat her right this time, and maybe, she’ll take off her dress without you waiting for her to fall asleep.

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