Don't worry, he'll miss you. You're the best he could get, and he blew it. Don't let him make you think for one second that this was your fault. It's not. He screwed up, and you did absolutely nothing wrong. You gave him your heart, and you trusted him to keep it and protect it, but he couldn't. And honestly, he's not mature enough. He's not smart enough. If he was smart, he would have cared for you with every fiber of his being and been with you every spare second he could. But he didn't, and now he's gone. But don't you cry. Don't call him telling him you miss him. Don't IM him, don't message him, don't comment him, don't talk to him in the hallways.

by Charles Bukowski


there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

"Some people
Never find the right kind of love
you know, the kind that steals
your breath away.
Like diving into a snowmelt.
The kind that jolts your heart,
sets it beating apace.
An anxious hiccuping of hummingbirds wings.
The kind that makes every terrible minute apart feel like hours.
Days.
Years.
Some people flit from one insane possibility to the next.
Never experincing the connection of two people.
rocked by destiny.
Never knowing what it means to love someone else,
more than themselves.
More than life itself, or the promise of something better.
Beyond this world,
More even (forgive me!) than god.
Lucky me, I found the right kind of love.
With the wrong person."

He knew that 'I love you' also means 'I love you more than anyone loves you, or has loved you, or will love you,' and also, 'I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you,' and also, 'I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else.'

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,

And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.

The moon, too, abuses her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.

No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.

OK this is getting ridiculous and frankly the shit grammar hurts my eyes because neither of you are
fucking Walter Cronkite and the stupid noises my BlackBerry makes getting your dumbfuck emails is
pissing me off and I am trying to WRITE because I actually have a fucking JOB.

Nash and Nicole, stop being bitches. Or a wannabe paparazzi. Both of which are MY job as a budding reporter.

What am I going to do with you two. Nash, ever since you started working for radio (out of all the crack whoring niggers out there, radio does the most damage to society) you have become a little too cunty for a real man. Girls have a reason for being sensitive, it's called PMS. You, on the other hand, have a chronic case of U-PMS (U being for ULTRA cause honestly, doodling on someone's face AND POSTING IT ON FACEBOOK when the guy barely acknowledges your existence just shows YOU are too free). You are way too classy for this shit, come on - we know you don't like Geoffrey, Geoffrey don't like you, THERE, I SAID IT, BIG SECRET IN THE OPEN. Guess what, fuckheads - uni is OVER. So you wanna blow each other in the backseat of his Kelisa or never speak to each other again, the rest of us don't give two shits. Just keep it off our freaking newsfeeds. He's done a lot of shit to you and vice versa, but you are one of the sweetest most loyal men I know. Don't waste your time playing someone else's game, because you're too talented for that shit and you know it.

Nicole, get a freaking job. Just because you are in love does NOT mean the salvation of humanity is
at hand. On the contrary, there are many real problems in the world like the blatant abuse of NGOs,
the whole third world deficit and mass starvation and hunger in Darfur. Why are you being so sensitive about this whole "how my boyfriend looks" thingy. Unless of course your boyfriends looks like Predator 2 (without the mask)? Anyway, not that I'm discounting your skills in the art of picking up guys, but I honestly believe that good things will happen to good people and as I've told you many times before, you have a good heart. So in that spirit, I give your shitty boyfriend the Glamorous 5 Star Award of Baywatch Hunk on Facebook.

And there you have it, my two sen worth of constructive criticism. And while you are all debating my credentials for giving advice to others, just remember this: I GOT AN A1 FOR MORAL. Therefore, by implication, my word is law unto you unenlightened beings.

Can I get a word up?

i'm now officially a summer.
*pats self on the back*

but i still really wish you'd been tom and i'd been your autumn.
but i guess everyone's a tom and then they meet a summer, and i am glad i met you.
at least, i think so.

anyway. he's nice and all, but he's no you. so i just put that book back on the shelf 'cause baby, i ain't buying. he's probably lying, like you were.

hey, wasn't tom trained as an architect but working as a writer?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

He told you that ‘You’re not the girl to get him out of his rut.” This is true. You’re not that girl. In fact, there’s no such girl. He needs to get himself out of his ‘rut.’ As for you? You need to break down your own walls.

because my hope dies last.

Happiness hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her, stock still, no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming
So you better run

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your loving, your loving behind
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
'Cause here they come

And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had and what was left after that too,
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back
Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than
that

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
'Cause here they come

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your loving, your loving behind
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
'Cause here they come

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming
So you better run.