From now on, I put writing on here. Writing, and only writing.
This has been my first writing in a while, IM me and tell me what you think, I want different opinions from lots of people. Anyone want to give it a title?
Yes, I write what I put on here. Please don't copy it..what I write means a lot to me.
we're an odd match, and people probably don't understand how we can live together. i'm sure they talk and whisper about us, wondering how we both walk out of the apartment alive in the morning, wondering how we can possibly be in love. we're constantly fighting and bickering, but it's in this playful kind of manner that's almost turned it into how we discuss things. maybe it's because we're too independent to live any other way, too independent to have ever fallen in love with someone who is going to restrict us. we're not living this normal kind of relationship, where you lean on each other and that's how you survive.. no, if one of us was to lean on the other, we'd fall. neither of us can stand that kind of clingy person. we're on an unspoken 'distant reliability' sort of contract, where we depend on each other in a way that's never going to interfere with the other's life.
aside from that distant reliability thing, i've figured out that there is only three other things that are keeping us in love. they're not trust or communication or sex or any of those things. you and i, we're structured on this- the car rides, the pictures, and the chinese kitchen.
i say the car rides first because i'm sure that's what tends to keep us sane, even if i haven't decided if i love or hate them. your 1992 honda civic tends to alter us a little. i like to think it's haunted or possessed or maybe it has something in the air. whatever it is, when we get in that car with no where to go, we're different. neither of us is rather normal to begin with, but that car sends both of us rocketing towards extremes. it tends to make me go completely insane, and it makes you calm down and clamp up. i guess that's the reason you don't permit me to invite anyone on those rides through the night- the ones that carry us so far out of the city and so far into the dark that i feel like i can just reach out and run my fingers through the velvet black sky.
it's on those car rides where we transform and we learn about each other. i'm almost positive that not only does that stupid hunk of junk carry something special; but that it also is the one place we've never gotten into a fight. it's the one place where we always make sense to each other, where we always understand what each other is thinking, where we can make just the right decisions at just the right time. that i should let you smoke and not try to open the window when it's snowing because i don't want to inhale your fumes. they tell you to let me cry and tell me to let you sing. they tell us to stop and kiss and just take each other in. i know it understands that we think we're smarter than anyone in the world, that we think we can dissect every abstract, undisectable issue. we know better, and they know that. maybe they're the ones who teach us.
the car rides also produce the pictures most of the time. i love the pictures, and i know you do too, even though you'll never talk to me about them. they're one of those unspoken things, too. we take or paint or draw them and attach them to the black wall without ever telling each other. i've sort of turned it into a game for myself, searching for whatever new things you've put up on the wall, wondering what you were thinking when you took that picture and wondering how many didn't turn out before that one.
the wall with the pictures is the only place in our apartment that was never part of the war our apartment went through in the first few months we lived together. you hated the bright paint i'd splashed onto the walls in the kitchen and bathroom, and i hated how you absolutely refused to let me paint the bedroom, and how you skipped class that morning to paint the wall black. you hated the pillows that i insisted we use, the ones that matched with the blankets that i hated and you refused to put away. we fought about the curtains until we took them down for good, we fought about the rugs until we gave up and left the floors bare, no matter how much we both couldn't stand the feeling of our feet against the cold wood.
the pictures give us peace though. we lay under it most nights, curled up in each other, staring up. the wall is almost filled, and it's going to extend to the next wall in a week or so, and i know that even though we don't talk about it, we're both pushing ourselves to cover the last of the empty black spots. i haven't told you yet, but i'm going to paint that wall red one morning next week so that we can cover that one. maybe this time you'll put some of your poems on the wall, too. maybe this time you'll talk to me about the pictures, and maybe this time i'll talk to you about mine. as much as i like that guessing game i've been playing with myself about those pictures, i wish i could understand. i wish i could know if you wonder about my pictures, too.
i guess the most important part of our life is the chinese kitchen. there's probably a million chinese food places in the city of chicago, but we've never bothered to step foot into another since the day you brought your suitcase to my apartment. it's tiny and hidden, but that place draws the most amazing people. it's where we met, and where we've grown together. we go there day in and day out, making small talk with the employees. One of them loves to sit behind us as we type our school papers, reading over our shoulders. i know he wants to make suggestions, but he never does it without our asking.
it's the most comforting place we know, i guess. we've met most of our friends there, or at least the ones who don't go to our college. they're all amazing people, the kind that make giant imprints on your heart without even meaning to… the ones that give you little pieces of information that you'll remember forever. we met joe there, who brings us through the museums constantly, teaching us things that we'd never have known without him. we never ask how he knows- for all we know, he could be pulling the facts out of his ass. but we love them, and we'd stand by them, even if every lesson was a lie.
we've met a million others, too. karen, the girl with the poetry, craig, the boy who makes friends with the homeless people. kelly, who ran away from home when she was seventeen, and when she returned, her mother was gone. she's smart and pretty and is a perfect house guest when we invite her into our home. she doesn't mind that i burn the muffins or that you never buy milk. there are people we've only seen once, the ones that have dragged us on escapades through the city, then leave us at home with only pictures to remember them.
we're not a perfect match, but we manage. we offset each other beautifully, finishing each others arguments and constantly compromising because we're too stubborn to ever give in completely. there are a thousand and one reasons we never should have come together, but we did, and the end result is something remarkable. we fight a lot, i'm too small and you're too big, and i will always be too small for you. but its okay, i suppose. it's okay, because we have the car rides, the pictures, and the chinese kitchen to make us live.