I remember when she said "It's not like there's going to be some kind of unicorn anyway..." We were in my office; I didn't know her, and she didn't know me, but in that moment, we were as intimate as two strangers could be.

I laughed because I have loved unicorns since before they became a hipster symbol for I-don't-know what... So, it makes perfect sense that I have been chasing the unicorn for most of my life.

When I was 7, I gazed at this picture. I don't know where I found it-- some magazine or something. At that moment, I decided to find that unicorn; catch her; and feel all her mystical powers.... But it didn't come easy to me. She always seemed to be just outside my gaze, so far away that I couldn't even see her... so far away that I had to rely on the fairy tales about her and what she looked like.

When I was 22 and first sober, I remember fretting about how this sobriety would impact the unicorn plan. How could these two dreams or sets of consciousness exist at the same time? I was talking to her outside of a church about it-- just on the edge of Dolores Park; laughing at how silly our minds were... two days before she OD'ed on crack. Yet still I did not see that the unicorn might be there-- disguised so as to confuse me and my search.

And much like that unicorn, I know I am too much in an almost surreal way. I know my heart darts, like my eyes do after a glass or two of wine....I know that my insides bubble up like an unwatched pot, sometimes spilling over
in a mess, when all you want is a clean stove. I know that appears so tempting and so terrifying to most who stand just outside the radius of her vision as well...

And that is the tragedy of it all...

I remember sitting in that huge empty suite; alone; in pain; confused; but mostly alone. I have never felt more alone before or since. I sat there, night after night, listening to the sounds of a dying woman; not knowing that I too was dying 2 floors down on the other side of the wing. Sympathy flowers decorated the space, disguised as thank you's. Each time I heard her dying a little more, my heart shut down a little more because that's what happens when it can't dart anymore.

That's why I can understand you a little... I know you see this surreal creature that is me-- too much, and boiling over; with exclamation points perpetually hovering over my head-- and what do you do? Like me, you dart... first toward me because it is so tempting; and then away, because it is so terrifying... and too much darting, leads to one thing only.

Me chasing the unicorn alone, even though I have never been sure if she exists.

We stand there, smoking, drinking, talking about random stuff. I hear you say this stupid lie... It's so obvious that it's just hegemonic masculinity. It's obvious to me, and I'm fairly certain it's obvious to all of them too. But I suddenly feel the need to call you out. You always say you're such a great liar... and I realize in that moment that you aren't a good liar. Well, I have always known that-- It's like that time when you said a friend was having an emergency or the
time you bullshitted your way through a story or two about how awesome you are or virile or slutty or mean or whatever you want to be in that moment-- but I digress...

You just surround yourself with people who don't call you out on your lies.  You always boast of this as if it's a skill.... and I guess it kind of is... you learned this at some point in childhood and never learned something better. You are excellent at picking people, like me, who are too scared of losing you to say anything... I can say this with certainty because I too used to pride myself on my lies and then I stopped seeing it as something of which to be proud... So, now I see you, hear you and just think it's sad. But not as sad as me staying.

Space.

I saw that word glowing from your cell phone and I suddenly imagined what it would be like to be with her. Or really anyone; she was just the cutest, sweetest butch I had talked to that night.... I thought about what it would be like to be with someone who expresses care in a way that doesn't make me feel like shit; like a whore; like a small school boi with a benefactor.  She leans in, and tilts her head. She tells you funny things; reveals small moments. She kisses you deeply and you don't imagine that depth that leaves you pulsing and jittery. But she does more than that... She also cries with you when you cry... she hears you when you finally get the guts to speak a need. She hears you so deeply that you find it easier and easier to reveal these truths... She treats you, herself, and the world with a kindness you admire. She is happy and looks forward, while taking the lessons from the past to make her a better person. She is working to be a better person, and she makes you want to be a better person (as cheesy as that is and as much as you imagine this as one of your vows at your wedding).

Once upon a time, I thought you might be her. There was this split second moment about 4 months ago when I thought that might be something that could evolve... And then I saw those words:

Space

And then there were thousands of moments that reminded me subtly and obviously that you are not; never have been; and never will be capable of the simple kindness I deserve....

And then there was this split second while we stood, smoked, drank, and talked that I thought maybe she could be that... I don't even know her, so it's easy to imagine.

Space.

Manifest.

Dream.

And suddenly I am lost in that blurry, shiny line.