When you visited that one time, you went to the pride parade…
The pride parade is always a strange memory for me, what you did, what you wore, what you told me.
And then it got merged with my psychosis at some point. I remember those words too.
Well, it’s June 1st, the start of Pride Month, the parade will be soon, maybe in a few days…
I don’t know why it’s just hitting me now, or why I’m writing about it now… in years past I probably sent an e-mail, but I don’t remember everything I’ve sent or said.
I think maybe the date might be more significant to you than me, or that you’d remember it more clearly than I do…
The hostel, the bus, the medication, the laptop, my hoodie, the Bacardi beads, the lollipop, your hair in the morning, talking with your family on Skype, my high school graduation, eating at the restaurant, my uncle taking the picture…
After all the time I spent drinking and doing drugs, really trying to escape myself and my feelings, it’s all still there, like it were yesterday, and I don’t even remember yesterday that clearly.
Not like yesterday, like a few moments ago.
But you wouldn’t want me. I’m out of shape, unhygienic, poisoned by pornography, barely keeping my head above water financially.
Sure I’ve some good qualities about me, but what does that even matter.
I’m writing this more for myself than to convince you to avoid me.
Writing this to remember my place in this world, in reality.
That you’re all the way over there, with a husband and child, trying to make your community just a touch less racist by avoiding all contact with me-
And i’m over here, trying to come to terms with being a brown person on this planet, unfortunately black in America, but with the added, unfortunate bonus of loving white women, or really women outside of my race, because I think it’s time society, globally, moved past skin color, or really, reverts back to a world where skin color wasn’t as significant.
Maybe it always was.
What the fuck am I writing about.