You consider giving in to the floods, bending open your rib cage and allowing yourself to be swept away in the tide. How a Friday night in New York, may save your life, if you let it.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Eleven Eleven
The battery percent on your phone tick down quickly as the train races through Queens. Your new boots twist in their stale leather; you wince. You tell her to embrace feelings, but tell him you can't accept any, yourself. He looks at you with those soft eyes and you think perhaps you are the one who's been mistaken. Red wine flows through your embers and for a moment, all seems right with the world.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Millions
This is bad news, he says, as you empty another beer and the floor begins to spin. It sounds exactly like something you should stay far away from. The air outside is all ice and hurricane winds; you hurt your skin just trying to breathe. There's a full moon, you see it, it bathes the Village in that eery glow but you know reality is much scarier than anything it can conjure. Let it go for a minute, because it will catch up to you tomorrow and remind you just how far you have to go. February kicks you in the margins, but you refuse to believe he is right. Good will come of all of this, because what else would you do with your time but try?
The hours pass, the days, the weeks. She cries at the other end of the line and you think there's something better out there for you to do.
Wait patiently for it to roar out of you. And until then, you will take what you can get.
The hours pass, the days, the weeks. She cries at the other end of the line and you think there's something better out there for you to do.
Wait patiently for it to roar out of you. And until then, you will take what you can get.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Cure
February beats me to the ground - March is proceeding to fill the earth above me.
(Journal excerpt, March 2013)
The days pass in a rush of work and exhaustion; I sleep at ten and wake from strange dreams not knowing where I am. I spend a dark weekend in anxiety, a ball of hot molten lava searing through my gut and defenses. She writes from across the ocean and misses her home in the City; she sends old pictures of the way things were, and the pain of her departure rips through you across the pages. You lie on your bed for hours, wondering how you will ever merge all the homes of your heart and the questions you have yet to answer. A soft voice in your ear tells you to take deep, healing breaths but every time you try, all you get are tears.
Perhaps this is my automatic reaction. Push myself in the mud at first taste of rain.
But I ran along the river at dusk tonight, the water was quiet and still, it looked soft like silk and I wanted to run my fingers along its surface. At the very tip of the Christopher Street pier, when you turn back, you can see the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Times Square and the Freedom Tower all at once, sprinkled gems in a twinkling skyline, and it filled me with such immense joy that I forgot my despair.
In a life of so much heartache, it's a beautiful thing to be reminded what love is.
(Journal excerpt, March 2013)
The days pass in a rush of work and exhaustion; I sleep at ten and wake from strange dreams not knowing where I am. I spend a dark weekend in anxiety, a ball of hot molten lava searing through my gut and defenses. She writes from across the ocean and misses her home in the City; she sends old pictures of the way things were, and the pain of her departure rips through you across the pages. You lie on your bed for hours, wondering how you will ever merge all the homes of your heart and the questions you have yet to answer. A soft voice in your ear tells you to take deep, healing breaths but every time you try, all you get are tears.
Perhaps this is my automatic reaction. Push myself in the mud at first taste of rain.
But I ran along the river at dusk tonight, the water was quiet and still, it looked soft like silk and I wanted to run my fingers along its surface. At the very tip of the Christopher Street pier, when you turn back, you can see the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Times Square and the Freedom Tower all at once, sprinkled gems in a twinkling skyline, and it filled me with such immense joy that I forgot my despair.
In a life of so much heartache, it's a beautiful thing to be reminded what love is.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Blizzared
The ice storm cometh. Nothing else seems of interest, and every turn of wind warrants immediate dissection. We abandon the office early, scramble to reach a train before they arrive full stop in the tunnels. The grocery store shelves lie empty, the floor overflowing with desperate shoppers on line. We make Christmas drinks and take pictures of the wintry courtyard. It eases come evening; the eye of the storm hovers over the Village. I paint my nails with my grandmother's hue and find myself wishing I could call her.
His smile reminds you of warmer climates. For a short moment, you allow yourself to drown in it. Let it keep you warm, until the storm has passed.
His smile reminds you of warmer climates. For a short moment, you allow yourself to drown in it. Let it keep you warm, until the storm has passed.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Ideal
It's 4:30 in the morning, he says, I have to give up, give in, go to sleep. Another voice from another time zone says I should go to bed earlier, adjust my daily rhythm after the sun and greet each morning with alert eyes and breaths of fire. The former appeals to me far more, but it ended in such wretched tatters.
Perhaps that was not the rhythm's doing.
I spend the night with children on my lap. They discuss my long blond tendrils and try to stay up past their bedtimes. We read about crayons, and I stroke their foreheads until they sleep. I wonder if I will abandon the idea of having some of my own; the world seems far too big a place, and the life far too short, to fit them in. You consider your current home -- the one thing that has consistently made you happy and safe, ever -- and realize again you'd end up having to choose one over the other.
You want to choose the world.
You just hope it will choose you back.
Perhaps that was not the rhythm's doing.
I spend the night with children on my lap. They discuss my long blond tendrils and try to stay up past their bedtimes. We read about crayons, and I stroke their foreheads until they sleep. I wonder if I will abandon the idea of having some of my own; the world seems far too big a place, and the life far too short, to fit them in. You consider your current home -- the one thing that has consistently made you happy and safe, ever -- and realize again you'd end up having to choose one over the other.
You want to choose the world.
You just hope it will choose you back.
New Moon
There's a sliver of light, hanging at the edge of the city and only hinting at the fullness beyond. To imagine, there is an entire universe beyond the meager days we spend trifling around this island. My toothache pales in comparison. You drink massive glasses of red wine and scrub kitchen tiles until your head spins, there doesn't seem to be a better way to get your brain to work. Solve all the world's problems in the middle of the night and when you wake up another week has gone by and you are none the wiser.
He writes from the war-torn, dusty lands and you wish he would return soon. There's an empty space along the bar and your convoluted mind cannot make sense of the twists on your own. The snow storm turns into rain in the forecast. You're sober longer before you're ready for it.
He writes from the war-torn, dusty lands and you wish he would return soon. There's an empty space along the bar and your convoluted mind cannot make sense of the twists on your own. The snow storm turns into rain in the forecast. You're sober longer before you're ready for it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
