michaelpaulmichaelpaul

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

gentle. (written sometime in 2016)

a polaroid sits on my desk, on the back is my hospital visitor pass. 3/11/15; hour 2, day one, of you my little love. the walls above my laptop are growing crowded- invitations to birthday parties, announcements of christmases and your baby brother, a creased piece of white paper covered in color. i booked a flight to come back home after reading ‘we miss you uncle michael’ one too many times. You see, J, you have a hold of me. and you won’t understand why or how, or ever fully know the depth at which i do, until the day comes when there is someone you can say i love you to. until you hold your baby niece or nephew, your son or your daughter...until they are placed in your arms and you are more careful than you have ever been before to not wake their tired little hands...until you pace the hallway of your parents’ house with them in your arms...until they run to you, hold your hand or fall fast on you after a big cry...until you relearn the meaning of gentle and apply it everywhere you can throughout your daily life, you just won’t truly know. So, this is my thank you, for teaching me to be gentile again. for the reminder just how fragile we all are, our need for safe hands to hold. I hope you don’t need this reminder, that you will go as your parents have, but i am not ashamed to say how much i need it...i needed you. 

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

Girlfriends Day

I recently watched Girlfriends Day on Netflix and decided to write some of my own greeting cards for this fake new holiday

Girlfriends Day,

A holiday invented by a greeting card company…I know…rather underwhelming to me. I know that we’ve only been together for ___ (days/months/years) and it must feel strange to have a day to celebrate when we’ve not shared a lot of time together. But today, I wanted to celebrate anyway, because unlike girlfriends day as a holiday…

you, my girlfriend, you overwhelm me. While I may not have gotten down on one knee yet, I may not have said I do, or even I love you, not just yet…

even so much as a message on my phone from you, just a hi or hello…

just to know that you would give me your attention for a moment, I must stop to recognize that what we are doing is worth so much more than a holiday. We are risking our own minutes and hours and days to see if our forevers could be together, and that, in itself, should be commemorated. 

To my every day holiday, happy girlfriend’s day.

Yours,

Girlfriends Day,

Just a reminder for you to mark down (___first date___) as the last day you could say that no one has ever adored you. Today, every day since we first met, & every day after... 

I adore you.

-me.

Girlfriends Day,

A day to celebrate how thankful I am that you haven’t said ‘thank u, next’

So thank u,

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

Paris and other places.

As the plane touched back down at Heathrow, I didnt budge from my seat. A film had just finished on the screen in front of me, and the passengers packed the aisles as though their persistence would allow a quicker exit from the plane. A quicker exit…the film I’d just watched, a documentary of sorts on Tim Bergling, better known as Avicii, pre-dated his quicker exit, at 28 years old. It showcased his passion, his brilliance, his access to the world, and his darkness. His music plays all over Europe, all over the world rather, but sitting in a hostel bar in Paris as several patrons sing along to his massive hit…

Feeling my way through the darkness Guided by a beating heart I can't tell where the journey will end But I know where to start They tell me I'm too young to understand They say I'm caught up in a dream Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes Well that's fine by me

So wake me up when it's all over When I'm wiser and I'm older All this time I was finding myself And I didn't know I was lost

I tried carrying the weight of the world But I only have two hands I hope I get the chance to travel the world But I don't have any plans I wish that I could stay forever this young Not afraid to close my eyes Life's a game made for everyone And love is the prize

From what I can tell, I was the only one in the room feeling any weight. Earlier that day, upon arrival in Paris, I remembered the words of Anthony Bourdain, and I wandered.

“Most of us are lucky to see Paris once in a lifetime. Please, make the most of it by doing as little as possible. Walk a little. Get lost a bit. Eat. Catch a breakfast buzz. Have a nap. Try and have sex if you can, just not with a mime. Eat again. Lounge around drinking coffee. Maybe read a book. Drink some wine. Eat. Repeat. See? It’s easy.”

As I had walked through Paris I had a smile plastered on my face, at a point, tears fell from my eyes. I felt alive, and nothing had made me feel this way in so long. It happened  as I wandered Brighton, Cambridge, Cardiff, even just my daily walk from my flat to the next coffee shop I’d work the day away in. The weight of the last few years has been so heavy, and I’ve been so quiet about it. I chalked up my disappointments to problems within me. I’m too picky, too ungrateful, impossible, difficult…no one is ever going to truly love me for me, because I am unlovable. To me at 25, I am wiser and older, but I still haven’t found myself yet. What I do know to be true…is to not have an early exit…to stay alive and feel it…I need to move. I need to walk, to be outside, to meet new people, to discover new cultures, to try new foods, coffee…at least twice a day, to get tattoos, to dance, sing too loudly, to take pictures, to wander aimlessly in places where I’ve been or never been before…I need to move. I don’t want an early exit…I love living. I love each moment I spend here on earth…and I take absolutely none of it for granted. If Tim and Anthony taught me one thing, together or separately, it’s that you can have the world at your fingertips, and still not want it anymore. I want the world, I want to live as long as I can, and if my exit is early, it will not be by my own choosing. I will keep on moving for as long as my body will let me. I will acknowledge the immense privilege it is to be able to climb stairs or sit in a park, to breathe in the smell of the pastries in French bakeries, to taste the first sip of a rarely perfect pour over filter coffee. For now, and for always, I will cherish this life, endlessly thankful.

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

three years later, and i’m not sleeping any more than i was back then... the grey in my hair is less subtle, my eyes often tired from the unsettled nights. i have a tattoo now...actually, i have 3. 

i still love to go, and often do... i didnt wait for some of the things i thought wed do together, and ive been some of the places i thought i wouldnt go to alone. 

I thought for sure my first home wouldnt be filled with 'tenants’, but it didnt stop me. and i bet you would love bali, and my dog rye, and my niece and nephew i know would love you.

but sometimes i wonder... i wonder if my parents will be around to know you or if ill stand by myself when they go. 

i wonder if my best really is yet to come, or its almost gone too. because i know how much time are we guaranteed here and there is not a goddamn second i want to keep from you anymore. 

im sure its my fault its taken this long. im sorry. 

all ive ever wanted was someone to go with me. 

a million times a day.

its quiet evenings that are the most dangerous. the void of important noise, the dull hum of the tv painting my living room with pictures unworthy of replacing any memory I hold. my mind hit capacity long ago.

it’s the simple, the monotonous that i know you will liven the most. you cook, and i clean while you sit on the counter and tell me the tales of your afternoon. i realize for the millionth time in a day that i love you and we dance slowly, this time the television is our symphony. 

it’s resting my head on a pillow, next to the great hollow half bed where you would sleep. waking up to alarms instead of the sound of your bare feet crossing the hardwood floor.

it’s saturday mornings, how i don’t sleep-in any more. i could rescue your favorite latte from the cold and you could wake in time to stay right there and read the day away.

it’s pouring out the extra coffee, it’s the leftovers, it’s even this damn bottle of wine i probably shouldn’t finish. it’s how everything is just ‘mine’ when, ‘ours’ is so much sweeter.

its living, daily, a single occupancy, in a life that was made for two.

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

7 months ago. hm. I have a dog now...I’m still unbelievably single, there are just more people who are female and don’t like me. Turns out cory matthews is an asshole too...https://www.buzzfeed.com/christopherpena/im-sorry-topanga-but-cory-is-actually-a-terrible-39xj1

I did not proofread this, not even once.

everybody loves to talk about the monuments in their lives- hoping to impart wisdom to a younger version (a newer model) of themselves, maybe its done with good intentions, or maybe its narcissistic. I don’t have anything to say to you, 1992 or 1997 edition human. I’m 30, you’re 25 or 20 or 6, but there’s a damn good chance the likelihood of you helping me is greater than I, you. 30 was always this number that felt impossible. I knew I would turn 21 and 25 and 29, but this last year went by so quickly and with so little to do with how I imagined it would go…that my hands are up. In the words of Cory Matthews…

It’s also not a joke. Of course, I understand that I am human who has thoughts and beliefs and passions and all of the other crap our species makes up to feel like we matter…but I really don’t feel like I do. 

Last summer, I went on vacation with my family. Instead of enjoying two weeks with my parents, my sister, her husband and my niece…I sulked. I pouted. I was an asshole. and I wasted it. A few days after, I had this epiphany and I apologized and was ‘forgiven’ and we moved on…but really, I did not. It was almost as if my actions and thoughts were out of my control and no earlier notice of my behavior would’ve solved for the grave error that I have become an asshole. 

I’ve not run the numbers, but I’m bleeding people from my life. Profusely. Not just the general churn of life, but great, kind, caring people are leaving me and to say I don’t know why would be the same self-preserving thought process I used in Hawaii. I’m selfish, I’m abrasive, I’m judgmental, I have a short attention span, let alone temper for people who don’t agree with me…and the worst part? I’m wrong. ALL OF THE TIME. So I apologize, and the most kind people forgive…but many have not- at least that’s the only explanation I have for why some of the people I thought I was closest to have moved on and away from me. 

‘I’m too old for this shit.’ I said that a lot in the last year…guess what, Michael? You’re not. You are 30, and it wouldn’t matter if you were 90…you are not too old for kindness and empathy…you will never be too old for forgiveness or thoughtfulness, and the only truth regarding age that applies to you is even your 3 month old nephew is too old for YOUR shit. Grow. Up. 

I’d be lying if I pretended that there weren’t obvious reasons for a lot of how I am. Excuses is probably a more fitting term…but I think it started when another life moment happened that I wrote about HERE. Knowledge is powerful, and some knowledge has the power to be harmful, and in no way would I ever be upset with my mom for telling me as she did…but it haunts me. 

“It’s not every day you can feel too much and not enough at the same time.”

I think that day was the first moment in my life I truly felt abandoned. You see, it’s not scary to be adopted, especially with loving parents. It’s not even scary to not know who was responsible for your existence. It’s not scary to live in ignorance thinking that the people who gave you up had nothing but the best intentions. However, it’s fucking terrifying to know that the person who made you wanted to know you…and then all of the sudden, just did not anymore. No explanation of new love or family, a cross country move, no forwarding address, I don’t even have a picture of my mother or father. Just a name, and 500 google searches later, a city and some marriage license records. 

Why did she stop writing? Why, 2 years after my birth father was buried and in the ground did she not think to share what she knew of him before walking away? Why did she not just say that it was too damn hard to keep in touch and not be in my life? Do I even believe that COULD be the case? 

I don’t understand anything about my entire life. 

I think far too much in song lyrics. I’m not sure when this started…but I remember vividly humming songs even as a preteen, and it happens every day that a lyric will grab a hold of me and follow me around. Years ago, one lyric did that and even now it’s echoing through my head like a fear is the lightning strike and these words are the thunder clap inside me.

“ And now the one you once loved is leaving.” 

That day, was the first day I had to say goodbye to someone who didn’t even wait around to hear it said. 

So, I fill my time with distractions. I travel pretty places and I post pictures with people who have more social equity than me to raise my stock in hopes that people will think that I am worth loving and I always leave first. I don’t wait at the door to even give them the chance to tell me to stay because if I did, well, then they could leave me. Even if they never would, in my mind, they could. That…that is the part that is terrifying. Not that they could or would leave me…that in my core, I believe they could. Knowing that this is what’s inside of me makes me leave even quicker…because who would truly love the asshole? Slowly, they would dig deeper and eventually they would have to go, because really, who could love the asshole? 

My ‘inner circle’ in Nashville is much smaller than I expected it would be. Maybe, that was naive of me…or maybe me actually living here was too high of a bar for the people I saw so frequently over the years that I’ve visited. Maybe, they always knew what they thought of me but could handle the semi-annual dinner and bar hopping. I have a job and live in an awesome house…but I don’t know that I’ll stay here because this city not only keeps a record of wrongs…it prints it out and puts it on nearly every sign post you pass. Trevor calls Nashville a youth group…and it is. one person decides you’re something and that’s it…you are that something and there’s not really a way to undo it, at least not one that I’ve found. I’ve never in my life felt such unspoken animosity towards me, and maybe some of it is well deserved…but there a lot of pots here calling this kettle black. 

where am I going with all of this? I’m trying to be better…I really am. Because I want to love someone and stay and be loved and have friends who are there for me and I for them…but I don’t know if that’s going to be found here. I am often lonely, and am often scared that it will always be like this, and that there is no way to ‘undo’ the mess I’ve made. I’m terrified. There isn’t much else to say…maybe this is why people go abroad and never move back home. 

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

I did not proofread this, not even once.

everybody loves to talk about the monuments in their lives- hoping to impart wisdom to a younger version (a newer model) of themselves, maybe its done with good intentions, or maybe its narcissistic. I don’t have anything to say to you, 1992 or 1997 edition human. I’m 30, you’re 25 or 20 or 6, but there’s a damn good chance the likelihood of you helping me is greater than I, you. 30 was always this number that felt impossible. I knew I would turn 21 and 25 and 29, but this last year went by so quickly and with so little to do with how I imagined it would go...that my hands are up. In the words of Cory Matthews...

It’s also not a joke. Of course, I understand that I am human who has thoughts and beliefs and passions and all of the other crap our species makes up to feel like we matter...but I really don’t feel like I do. 

Last summer, I went on vacation with my family. Instead of enjoying two weeks with my parents, my sister, her husband and my niece...I sulked. I pouted. I was an asshole. and I wasted it. A few days after, I had this epiphany and I apologized and was ‘forgiven’ and we moved on...but really, I did not. It was almost as if my actions and thoughts were out of my control and no earlier notice of my behavior would’ve solved for the grave error that I have become an asshole. 

I’ve not run the numbers, but I’m bleeding people from my life. Profusely. Not just the general churn of life, but great, kind, caring people are leaving me and to say I don’t know why would be the same self-preserving thought process I used in Hawaii. I’m selfish, I’m abrasive, I’m judgmental, I have a short attention span, let alone temper for people who don’t agree with me...and the worst part? I’m wrong. ALL OF THE TIME. So I apologize, and the most kind people forgive...but many have not- at least that’s the only explanation I have for why some of the people I thought I was closest to have moved on and away from me. 

‘I’m too old for this shit.’ I said that a lot in the last year...guess what, Michael? You’re not. You are 30, and it wouldn’t matter if you were 90...you are not too old for kindness and empathy...you will never be too old for forgiveness or thoughtfulness, and the only truth regarding age that applies to you is even your 3 month old nephew is too old for YOUR shit. Grow. Up. 

I’d be lying if I pretended that there weren’t obvious reasons for a lot of how I am. Excuses is probably a more fitting term...but I think it started when another life moment happened that I wrote about HERE. Knowledge is powerful, and some knowledge has the power to be harmful, and in no way would I ever be upset with my mom for telling me as she did...but it haunts me. 

“It’s not every day you can feel too much and not enough at the same time.”

I think that day was the first moment in my life I truly felt abandoned. You see, it’s not scary to be adopted, especially with loving parents. It’s not even scary to not know who was responsible for your existence. It’s not scary to live in ignorance thinking that the people who gave you up had nothing but the best intentions. However, it’s fucking terrifying to know that the person who made you wanted to know you...and then all of the sudden, just did not anymore. No explanation of new love or family, a cross country move, no forwarding address, I don’t even have a picture of my mother or father. Just a name, and 500 google searches later, a city and some marriage license records. 

Why did she stop writing? Why, 2 years after my birth father was buried and in the ground did she not think to share what she knew of him before walking away? Why did she not just say that it was too damn hard to keep in touch and not be in my life? Do I even believe that COULD be the case? 

I don’t understand anything about my entire life. 

I think far too much in song lyrics. I’m not sure when this started...but I remember vividly humming songs even as a preteen, and it happens every day that a lyric will grab a hold of me and follow me around. Years ago, one lyric did that and even now it’s echoing through my head like a fear is the lightning strike and these words are the thunder clap inside me.

“ And now the one you once loved is leaving.” 

That day, was the first day I had to say goodbye to someone who didn’t even wait around to hear it said. 

So, I fill my time with distractions. I travel pretty places and I post pictures with people who have more social equity than me to raise my stock in hopes that people will think that I am worth loving and I always leave first. I don’t wait at the door to even give them the chance to tell me to stay because if I did, well, then they could leave me. Even if they never would, in my mind, they could. That...that is the part that is terrifying. Not that they could or would leave me...that in my core, I believe they could. Knowing that this is what’s inside of me makes me leave even quicker...because who would truly love the asshole? Slowly, they would dig deeper and eventually they would have to go, because really, who could love the asshole? 

My ‘inner circle’ in Nashville is much smaller than I expected it would be. Maybe, that was naive of me...or maybe me actually living here was too high of a bar for the people I saw so frequently over the years that I’ve visited. Maybe, they always knew what they thought of me but could handle the semi-annual dinner and bar hopping. I have a job and live in an awesome house...but I don't know that I’ll stay here because this city not only keeps a record of wrongs...it prints it out and puts it on nearly every sign post you pass. Trevor calls Nashville a youth group...and it is. one person decides you’re something and that’s it...you are that something and there’s not really a way to undo it, at least not one that I've found. I’ve never in my life felt such unspoken animosity towards me, and maybe some of it is well deserved...but there a lot of pots here calling this kettle black. 

where am I going with all of this? I’m trying to be better...I really am. Because I want to love someone and stay and be loved and have friends who are there for me and I for them...but I don’t know if that’s going to be found here. I am often lonely, and am often scared that it will always be like this, and that there is no way to ‘undo’ the mess I've made. I’m terrified. There isn’t much else to say...maybe this is why people go abroad and never move back home. 

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

iPhone 6S space gray 64gb unlocked, make an offer.

he has blue eyes and this wave in his hair when it gets longer, and you can even see a few greys around the sides above his little ears. he makes me laugh no matter where we are or what we’re doing. he gets so excited about sports and how many points he got on his credit card or where we can go next. and he remembers little things like the way i take my coffee and my little brother’s favorite bands. sometimes he gets too worked up, and holds on to things that go wrong a bit too long, but he just wants everything to be good, to not miss out. he always looks out for me. he helps me when my phone isn’t working or my computer is out of space. he does what he says he will, and i never have to worry about where he is or if i’ll hear from him because i think he loves talking to me as much as i love talking to him. he looks at me. not just a glance and it’s not really a stare either, but my friends have noticed it and told me about it later that he looks at me in a way they hope someone will look at them some day. like there is nothing else around, no other people, no music playing, no lights or movement to distract, there is only me, disastrous, broken me with my baggy sweater and my messy bun, my aggressive temper and my ridiculous routines. it’s just me, all of my mistakes and things that i regret, everything that i think i need to fix but i never feel that when he looks at me. sometimes i wonder if he’s just pretending, and like every other guy one day he'll just up and leave, but then something always happens to push that idea from my mind. he’ll show up at my work to have lunch together, or he’ll decide that we’re not allowed to do the dishes because the after dinner dancing isn’t finished yet. and i he’s not even that good of a dancer but he is so happy to see me so happy…because i am. everything in my life has told me to be cautious, to hold back, to prepare for the worst when it comes to dating or love or whatever this is. but when we’re dancing and singing along to the music and i know i’m off key but he demands i sing louder, there isn’t anything to hold back. i’m there, and he’s there, and he only wants me for who i am right that moment. and i waited so damn long to be loved like this…so long that if tomorrow comes and we’re pulled apart, i will only grow fonder of the time that we had. i know i tell him to stop, to stop taking my picture or to look away sometimes…but i don’t mean it. i just get scared. scared that i, i love him, in all the ways i could love someone, and i know that i won’t ever stop loving him or wishing that he was here when he’s away or that he'll show up at my stop when it's raining with an umbrella just to walk to me home, or he’ll sit in the middle seat of a taxi just to be closer as we flirt across the town. i hope he never stops loving me that way, the constant, quiet, assured and so obvious way, that only he could ever love me. Sent from my iPhone

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

the issue with being hopeful

hope has a place, but i just don’t think it belongs in everything. i’ve never been let down by a situation surprising me and turning out better than i had initially thought it would be. but being hopeful about something, being excited for it, and it imploding...the false starts.

they gut me. every. single. time. 

so maybe the best place is in the middle, not hopeless, not entirely hopeful, just be ok...and you’ll be ok. 

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

hidden.

I often shy away from writing in rhyme. It’s hard to communicate the rhythm and rhyming often limits vocabulary. Last week I had to take my family to the vancouver airport at 4 am and decided to stop for a coffee on the way home. as i sat to prepare myself for the drive, this came out almost entirely as stream of consciousness...so i let be as is.  note: i’ve never played pokemon go. 

I will be sure to take it slow this time, or try my very best to, I'll be patient while excited, while getting to know you

I'll keep the compliments quiet, the conversation light, and I'll only say I like you when we both know it's right.

under my breath I'll whisper, I can see the future in us, how me with you is the best me, that there ever was...

And I will write you letters, and hide them all over town, and some day I'll send you searching and my love will all be found

And I'll take a thousand pictures, and they will stay inside my phone, and when you're off on adventures, I'll never feel alone

And some day when you're ready, I'll share a memory or two, and you will reminisce of a love once unknown to you

And if a distance finds us, whether we are near or we are far, I will use my words to say, to me, all that you are

And if you continue to wonder, if the words I say are true, then time will give an answer, as I'll keep on keeping you.

I don't say this lightly, and I'll never quite no why, but darling if you'll let me, forever let me stand beside

Beside you down an aisle, or in places far away, in pictures and in memories, tomorrow and today

In sickness and in health, in joy and sorrows too, on your best days and the broken, I'll be there with you.

There's not a limit to our together, there's no catch, nor fine print, there's just a lot of love in me that I would like to give

And if that's what you're after, if you wonder when I'll arrive, It will be worth all your waiting, the lonely days and nights

I have had the same as you, the wishing you would be, the one that I've been hoping for, the only you for me

Until then, keep on dancing, keep on hoping, push on through, there's someone made to hold you, and to fall asleep next to

To wake up in the morning, a bit too early for the day, to laugh at in the evenings, to talk your fears away

To be in awe of all the little things, your kindness, and your hopes. All your little quirks, that we’ll turn to inside jokes

But for now I'll be happy, with dinner, a drink or two, I'll be happy just to be the man who sits down next to you

To let the other diners question, how is he with her? The question for the ages, with the diners I'll concur!

I'll be happy with the moments, the right here and the right now, but quietly I'll be wanting to say all of this aloud

Some day when you're quiet, I'll ask you what is wrong, you'll say nothing whatsoever, you've kept it quiet far too long

You love me and you knew it, from the day we first met, and you can't hide it any longer, cause it's keeping you from rest.

I'll take your hand and we’ll go walking, all over our town, so you can find my letters, a hidden love has now been found.

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

IHGB-9.

when i was about eleven i remember walking on the beach in edmonds, a small town north of where i grew up. in one of my pre-pinterest, pre-hipster, very pinterest and very hipster moments of creativity, i picked up a piece of driftwood. I don’t know why i liked it so much, but after flipping it over the mysterious code IHGB-9 written on front felt like it belonged in my bedroom where i could make up stories for friends that visited about what it meant or where it came from. 

this morning i walked to a coffee shop in the sweltering nashville heat. 80 degrees and humidity and about halfway there i knew i’d made a mistake cause i can make a sweat like nobody’s business. i had coffee with rob yesterday and it was hot then too, and he talked about his therapist and it meant a lot that he would talk about his therapist and that he had one to begin with because he always seems so put together, and so loved, i imagined, because it’s much easier to love someone who is put together. i stared at the ground to avoid the sun as best i could and as i crossed the street i saw a pile of scattered business cards. “driftwood counseling.” Counseling seems like it should be something that’s run by people who are put together but my guess on this particular morning the card holder was flustered or late or maybe just forgetful and the cards were left on top of their car, about to be spread all over 12 south.

I wish I could say I picked one up and the phone number was 1800-IHGB-9 and that somehow still connected to a phone line and the person on the other end invited me in for for a consultation and the receptionist was so pretty and it turns out it was her who dropped the cards and she was embarrassed but she handed me one with her number on it and that the meeting i was going to the coffee shop for turned into an offer and i moved to nashville and had a therapist and had friends who arent so put together either and someone who didn’t ask for anything but my attention, for me to sit still, to stay...but it just doesnt go like that. im still driftwood. IHGB-9, fooling any friends who come over, still unsure of where I’m from or what I mean. 

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

you fall asleep at different speeds, sometimes quick and quiet, but others a tantrum must precede your slumber. you love bright lights, you love being held facing outward so you can see what is happening around you, you love when your dad flips you over and yells ‘upside down baby!’ when you were learning to crawl, you ended up in a plank position, and often got upset you couldn’t back up as something was in the way. you make noises when you drink your bottle, you stare at me when im looking away and smile when i notice. you like being read to and will try to eat anything within your tiny arms’ reach. ive spent my life worrying about the big things...the big moments, the highs, and the lows, too. I wanted the big job, the tidal wave romance, the cross country move, and the intercontinental flight. but the best moments i had last year weren’t the biggest, and certainly weren’t what social media says were the most memorable. the best moments I had in 2015 were the quiet saturday evenings on my sister’s floor, in the hospital room when she first told us your name, watching my mom wonder what was happening because for her, a family of children adopted, it was all so very new. the best moments in 2015 were ‘upside down baby,’ peekaboo, the sunny patch happy giddy tunnel, watching you watch the light parade at disneyland. the best moments happened not as ‘artist relations director’ or ‘speaker’ or ‘adventurer,’ the best moments happened as ‘uncle michael,’ ‘brother,’ and ‘son.’ the best moments weren’t in Spain or China or New York City, in a big stadium or at a festival. Often quiet, and disguised as insignificant, the best moments happened with you. though I would stop it if i could, you will grow. you will talk and dance and learn what hurt and pain feel like. but you wont ever be alone. and as your life continues, a kaleidoscope of moments big and small, we will cheer for you and protect you and encourage you...and eventually, we will let you go, and become who you want to be. but whether or not you keep them, ill always be thankful for these memories, the little moments, the chance to be here from your beginning...the most beautiful debut.

love, ‘uncle michael’

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

pacemaker.

​You were made from the dust, an able body with a warm heart that the doctors said would have trouble beating. Though the doctors and nurses and surgeons are not God, they are his marionettes, cutting and sewing, testing our bravery as we await news outside the operating room. I know that He is there, and He is carefully moving steady hands over you. I know that it's not a coincidence that a heart the world says is 'broken' loves the most of any...I know it's not by chance that someone living everyday with a reminder in their chest that we can be made new again, spends their life on restoration of others the world says are 'broken' too.

You were a made from the dust, an able body with a warm heart that one day will love another. When you meet, you will go see the doctor with the steady hands. You will ask him the risks of your pacemaker heart moving at 200 beats per minute for as long as it takes to have dinner with her, 250 as you walk around the city staring up at the lights, and ‘probably 10,000 beats per minute’ for the whole drive home after you kiss her goodnight for the first time...and every time after that. The doctor will ask how often you expect this to occur and you will confidently say, 'till death do us part,' because you know that's what it will take for you to let each other go.

The doctor with the steady hands, still god’s puppet, was lucky enough to have fallen in this kind of love before. He will tell you that this kind of feeling is risky, yes, but that your heart, while made with metals and pieces and parts, was built knowing one day this love would come. ‘The only risk is letting it go.’ So you will leave, out of the hospital in to your car, and you will sing loudly the songs that remind you of home and the bravery you keep. You'll go right to her, and you won't realize then, but someday she'll tell you her heart was beating ‘10,000 beats per minute,’ too.  

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

eidolon.

​How long will you haunt me? Will you ever let me be? I've searched for new ghosts to take your place, and I've begged for frightening enough to forget your name. I've dug up the past like a bandit, searching for greater pain in those old graves. Still, you, the whispers of what will never be, you follow around this hollow quietly. You are my phantom company. 

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

an album review, sort of. ‘brand new’

Sometimes songs will follow you around, show up in places you need a melody, and someone just to say 'I feel it, too.' Years ago, Ben's songs sang me to San Francisco, up and down the west coast while I was letting go of Los Angeles. A few years later, he wrote about "walking in between" in a season filled with heavy steps, in the middle of places I was meant to leave, and one day be. Yesterday, he wrote a few more, called them, 'brand new'…saying 'it's the way I feel when I'm with you,'…and I do, too. Then he says that 'life's been good to me,' and I'd have to agree. I'm much older than I was the first time his songs kept me company, but I'm no less in need. I will always need truth, friendly reminders that whatever I'm going through, someone else is too. I will always be thankful for the seasons that get me closer to who I am to be. I am thankful for the songwriters, the musical poets who write the soundtracks for my day to day, who tell me it's alright, I'll be just fine. I'm thankful we have something to sing along to, cause 'I haven't seen her for a month or so, young love feels just like finding buried gold.' Maybe, I just wrote about ben so that I could say something to you...you're making life feel 'brand new.'

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

hurry up.

I've been putting off reading Jamie Tworkowski’s book, “if you feel too much” for a few months, because for a few months I haven't felt much of anything, definitely nowhere near "too much," but this two hour flight seemed like a good time to start because I feel a lot of things I didn't a week ago. 

Jamie is a magnificent person. I am now the age he was when he gave me a chance, a stipend, a warped tour pass and some tshirts. I remember the day he arrived to the tour vividly. I was exhausted already, and we didn't know each other very well and so I didn't know much of what it was like to ask a creative to do logistical things. He arrived to the booth around noon, I had been up for five hours, the response to the first few days was pretty incredible. We had sold all of the shirts we had planned for 22 shows in just three, and I don't think I could've imagined how many people already knew of "To Write Love On Her Arms." When he got there, he had a Gatorade and was thankful, and asked, "what's it like out here? Are there any girls our age?" I quickly retorted like the smart ass 20 year old I was, "Jamie, there isn't an 'our age.'" 28 seemed like it was an impossibly long way off…by that age I’d be married and not worried about girls anymore, of course.

8 years later, there still isn't an 'our age.' Yet, I now understand his question and where it came from. Jamie and I seem to want the same thing, it's one reason I've loved reading his heart over the years in blogs and posts, and that's to be in love with someone that will be there, for always. 

Jamie and I both know this well, as Mark Manson puts it "It’s possible to fall in love with somebody who sucks for us and our happiness." I've been in that kind of love before, once so deeply that I didn't even realize all the reasons I was tearing that love apart. Yesterday, the girl I once loved that way got engaged to someone else. Whether or not she will read this, I wish her nothing but the best in their future together. I hope he loves her and she, him, for always and for the best, as that was something we never had. 

It's always going to amaze me who ends up loving who, and how they met. I spent the week in Nashville with Chris and Alyce (the legend is they met on twitter), who are madly in love and Jamie and I got to be groomsmen to watch them tie the knot a few years ago. Throughout this week I played third, fifth, even seventh wheel with couples I really love. I heard stories of meeting each other's parents for the first time, the struggle of knowing who would compromise location or work or even where they went on which holiday and I remembered again that I want it, the ‘for always’ love. 

Our culture is strange- we are free to say we want that job, that car, or place to live, but we're not really free to say we want love. I don't feel free to say I want the woman that will be there in the morning to hold, to dance with at weddings, weep with during times of loss. I don't feel free to say I want someone to call when I 'feel too much,' who will take a day off of work with me to fly down to LA to visit my birth father's grave for the first time...who will wait long enough for me to say what I need to say then wrap her arms around me at that very moment being there alone becomes too hard. 

I don't feel free to ask my friends about their friends, I feel guilty when I swipe on apps...I feel that I'll always be alone, and something is wrong with me. There are lot of things I don't know to be truths or not. I don't even feel free to say that life really is hard when I am blessed with friends and family and a steady job. I don't feel free to want love more than friends, money, or a city. But, I do. 

I didn't feel a lot these last few months because I didn't feel free to, I felt that I should be quiet and thankful and I was, I am. In that quieting of my feelings, I forgot that it's okay, better, to feel and to want things. It's good to be honest with yourself about your desires and what you hope for. It's good to not settle, to feel free to talk to the pretty receptionist and to be sad when you don't get a text back from the photographer with the beautiful eyes. 

So, that's what I'm going to do, and it starts here. To the girl that could be waiting, feeling like she wants too much, I promise if we find each other, that longing and that fear will pass. I can't wait to hold you, to learn the little details of you, to introduce you to the people that know me, and to know the people who love you. I cannot wait to love you, for always and always......

But maybe hurry up now...........please?

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

jameson & ginger.

“I have so many things to say,” I want to hear them all, in any order her mind demands. I met her on a rainy day in a city I was only visiting, pints and a woman a few seats away yammering loudly who would later catch her hair on fire with the candlelight that illuminated us. For a pub in a country where pubs are more like living rooms, it was quieter than I anticipated. She had a whit that often is reserved for standup comedians and high-priced lawyers. Sharp, but sweet and delicate in the most assertive way. I want to be near her, but “no” is her favorite word, at least when I am asking the questions. So I stay close but not enough to be upsetting. It is upsetting, time zones and cultural differences, no real ‘day-to-day’ and not nearly enough time spent together for my feelings to qualify as longing. So, I long to long for her.

[michaelpaulmichaelpaul]

the red rain coat and the pretend hero.

You bounced across the intersection, red rain coat, yellow boots, hood on, headphones in. the sky pelted your phone turned gps system with drip after drop and you looked up and down the block giving it a once over I would have given anything to be for me.

You were lost, and I was late, a match made in helter-skelter. a few blocks from my home and one of the only places in this something-old, something-new metro area where I might actually be able to help. In true, me-form, I continued on, erring on the side of embarrassment aversion, because you probably don't need a knight in shining north face. Yet, I made it another block and courage came over me like an actual prince charming was my marionettist. I marched back up the small incline, where you would be just across the street. The light would turn and I would casually walk across ignoring puddles and the seconds counting down to the red hand of caution, "run, you fool" is what I imagine it to say.

Step by step, I played the scenario out in my head. The rain would slow enough that you would pull your hood back, and your ear bud out. "Hey, you look lost, can I help?" Innocent, confident and unassuming. You'd hesitantly say yes, mentioning a meeting you were late to in a building that doesn't seem to actually exist. Fate would intervene that I knew just the place, and I'd insist that I power-walk you there to make sure you arrived quickly. We'd chat briefly and my bravery would peak offering you my number, in case you were ever lost again and wanted an experienced tour guide who knew a nice café to get a coffee along the way. Your smile would turn my insides to jello shots and my love drunk body would stride away from the office building before crumbling into my desk, now soaked and behind, but hopeful.

And as I came up, ready to watch the moment unfold. . . there you were. . .not. In the one minute and nine seconds it took me to be bold and brave, to usurp the lifetime of language that pelted me into protecting myself before helping another. . .you had moved on. Every good intention that permeated my now sweating skin was for naught - you had found your destination, and were sitting where you were supposed to be and I had no remaining catalyst, just a puddle of pretend.

That is where the story ends, a slow saunter, a sad slouch, and a desk full of reminders that even the best attempt, and poor timing, just won't do.