found in an old journal.

why is it that i cannot write about loving him?

i can write about green tennis shoes. or a baseball hat worn aslant. i can write about exposed brick walls and the movie rushmore. sitting on opposite ends of the couch with too much to say sitting just between us. or street fighter and nick drake. i can write about dark theaters and hanging pony-tails. long-narrow corridors with well-worn floors.

i can write about all these things--all these parts. but i cannot write about him.

and because i cannot write about him, i cannot write about love.