and Heaven, Too

I bit my lip today, again, again, I forget and it gets worse. Early in the evening, how happy we were, how long the night ahead. We spoke of our youth, remembered. I had forgotten what a bad friend I was, what a good friend you were. I never deserved all this love, and here we are, adults, I still feel the same.

We reached the roof top bar at the city's darkest hour, and with every drink you bought, dawn spread further over the city. It's not a Manhattan skyline, but it's home now. Somewhere, down there, by that church spire, is my apartment, my bed, at least for another night.

I'm sorry I was distant, I'm sorry my mind disappeared. I saw that pink light spread across the buildings, it got too much, too big, too overwhelming. I'm sorry I forgot to listen, to respond. By the time we parted ways, by the time I walked that long street home, it was so light, I had no darkness in which to hide, I felt so exposed.

My defenses begin to crumble, to give in. I remember, I become aware of where I am. It's not that I don't love you, it's just that my heart is in a million pieces, and only one lies here. Place your bets. Accept your losses. Life will still be here for you, in the morning.

House Lights

We sat in the kitchen window, leaning out to keep the smoke from blowing straight in. I couldn't count the bottles on the table. I don't know what was said. My mind is a fog and I just try to keep up with conversation.

Last night I dreamed of my old roommate on Morton, of the puppies; they came on a bus and the hellos were shorter than the goodbyes. Gut-wrenching goodbyes and the bus doors closed with me in them. My subconscious opens the door to what has come, at last. I woke up heart-broken.

There are no rats in the Stockholm subway. It's so clean, the air is so cool. I miss them, their companionship. It may sound strange. But I think of it every time I stand on that platform. It's not the big things I miss; the big things remain. But New York, honey, you were nestled into my every pore, every hidden fold, every dusty corner.

I walk these streets prouder now, than I used to. But I am perpetually lost, without you.

Something Lasting

I take a break, just a few hours, just a few moments to myself and my headphones and I stare into the whitewashed walls that are not mine, that offer me refuge from anything that ever was. Overwhelming waves of words, of thoughts, of feelings wash over me, move me across the shoreline of awareness. Life is long. You were someone long before I knew you. I was someone long before I got here, and so few things are constant.

I admire the dedicated their devotion, the passion that lay in them when their hearts were only beginning to sprout. I envy them and think what the hell are you trying to do?, convince myself it was too late for me to blossom years ago.

When I was seven, I wrote a story. A silly story, it doesn't matter now. I told my father I was going to be a writer. He said yes, I think so. Sometimes we have to lose all we have, to be found.

Partials

Don't you want to just crash on the couch? my sister asked as I gathered my things. But I didn't. I longed for that walk home, home to my borrowed nook in the narrow alleys on another island. When the city is finally quiet, the Japanese tourist gone home, the self-conscious eyes of the homogenous people asleep. I walked across the bridge and the City shone; at the day's darkest hour, the sky was still deep blue. A full moon hung low over the south island, its right side nibbled on by an eclipse. I walked the whole way home sensing something was missing. Interpreting symbolism seemed superfluous.

I turned the corner down the narrow street of my home; how quiet it was. I allowed my steps to slow, I took in the night. Imagined hundreds of years of people walking these same streets, how this church had been a beacon at the top of the hill for centuries, how much life ran through the veins that are these streets and how insignificant my place in them. And yet here I was, a part of them nonetheless. The eclipse passed. The magic remained.

You say all the right things. I'm listening, but I don't know if you can hear it.

of Rain

I stood in the shower until the water ran cold over my skin. I knew I should get out but could not. I shivered.

The rain finally came tonight. Funny, all these days I longed for it, but when it came it washed all the bounce out of my step. I wrap myself in your words for warmth but you are still impossibly far away. They are just a reminder of distance. Doubt sweeps in and pulls the rug from under me; what the hell did we think we were doing?

My thoughts a jumble, I drag myself to bed early. Perhaps, tomorrow, the sun will shine again. Perhaps, tomorrow, it will be a whole new day.

Cobbled

The forecast called for rain, and again it did not come. I stumbled awkwardly over narrow cobblestone alleys in the Old Town, navigating to a door and a key in hiding. A friend away on travels, I land for but a few nights under his low ceilings, perpetually moving to stay a step ahead. The dark sandstorms nip at my heels, my head aches and my body starves. The money runs out, so quickly it runs, but the weekend is unrelenting, depositing me at a hundred sunsets, a hundred drinks, with more lovely faces than I knew I had in this city. I cannot say no, I revel in every moment.

There is too much to contemplate, too much to digest. In the West lies an entire city and carries on without me; my heart burns longing for it but my eyes stay shut to its memories. Stockholm tempts me with its glittering waters, its late-night whispers of adventure on the horizon. The faster I run, the longer I keep this giggle in my heart.

It's just tonight I'm so weary. In a borrowed bed, in the ancient house, I sleep long before the sun sets.

Crane Wife

Stockholm, 3 a.m. and dawn. The soles of my feet so weary, the souls of my feet. Worn. I know where to turn, I know where the bridge is; it's not the one you said but I found it. The city is quiet now, so quiet, and light. All I can think of is Houston street, on one of those mornings, how many mornings there were; this walk is longer. These shoes used to walk those streets; is it always this quiet here? Every minute is closer to morning. It was already morning when we parted.

You said, it will be okay, and I didn't think much of it, but those streets leave me so much time to think and when I digested your words all I had was tears.

I took my shoes off before I reached the bridge. It didn't help. I was still left alone with my thoughts and that ache in my feet. Don't settle in, don't pack your bags. Limbo is eternal.

If you would only hold my hand, I imagine it would be okay. If I would only unpack my bags, perhaps this would be real enough and I would stay. The city is light, now. I will sleep until I wake.