confessions

if ever there was a place to hide a thought, it is here and because those things that matter 

often get over looked i guess in my most quiet of whispers years later i may speak of things that got quickly swept under the carpet. fg was mine and if he is the worst than it cannot be so bad but he was such a bad boy that i tried my best to avoid the hurricane. 

did i call him another name i forget, but looking back, the sweetest memory i have of him was a sunny day when.... it was all by the by but he pulled me aside and showed me a memory box he had just finished. it had all of his youth and family memorabilia. he was always such an artist, the work was exquisite, the sanding of the wood, the connecting of the sides so perfect, so very beautiful but he said, "do you see what's preserved in there forever with my life?" he pointed inside past the sealed-up glass. it was a photo of me he stole from my jewelry box. there it was glued closed in his beautiful life memory box and .... i was then with his best friend. he was that way, so very Romeo. so very much the heritage of his background, he was so alive with creating, and beauty and passion and being in the moment and he jabbed me to the heart. how could he do that. but it is one of those moments in life that i dont know whatever it was 

i met him soon after my mother died. just weeks after her husband and my horrible ruin of loss of custody in court. i was a wreck and there he was looking at me like i was some ....what did he always call me, he would sing the Miss America song when i showed up;  i was Miss America to him --but it was not about fucking, it was this other thing that was between us. it was this kind of honesty. it was this secret but it was also more, it was that we could create together, we could come alive when we were together. 

was it the art? or the emotions we shared because.... we talked a lot; we shared real life things that were happening and we  became closer than any other lover i have ever known 

the last time i saw him was at the ruin of .... what became of chris and me. or what we had once been called at the art warehouse, the 'chris and dawn show' the ugly soap opera that was our life for awhile but before that it was another show; my scandalous life with one of many mad artists who have made my life so crazy....but fg —i always knew he would ....not be able to forget me