Dear LA,

My heart races when I think of leaving you. 

You make me think of burnout tees with tiger faces and rock bands printed on them,
Of familiar faces trying to go unnoticed
Of California softly coming in the open French doors, sinking into my skin.
Oh, you made me feel like there was helium in my heart.

You make me think of charging again and again into battle with the ocean and being rolled back out each time.
I think that counts as a loss,
But it felt like a win.
Ocean-one, Bee Bailey-one.
I feel fine.

You make me think of Saints and Angels.
They live quiet holy lives.
They build homes for strangers.
They build the kingdom for strangers.
And the strangers don’t stay strange for long.
Come into my heart.

Yep, that summer breeze makes me feel fine.

I’ll be seeing you,
ABEJA

Once upon a something

Maybe Maybe I am my own home.

Sometimes when I speak to you though

I remember things that never happened.

The memories come anyway.

Like they are mine.

Like the high and low has barreled through me.

Things I can feel.

Things I can know.

All places and all my real memories become little plasma boxes on a screen.

And I can’t remember the real people.

The quiet conversations spoken over pillows and the dark air.

Spoken at the ceiling and from the heart.

And to a girl.

But I guess I do remember.

And although I can’t feel it now,

Maybe they are home.

They are the furniture, the lamps, and the sunlight that fill the house of my soul.

And turn it into the place I reside.

The place I exist.

And I keep them.

Even while they are not happening.

Even in solitude.