in city scapes and passing clouds, high above the grass and trees, my thoughts wander and collect in bundles, only to later fall as rain when i've left my umbrella at home.
thoughts dripping onto pages in notebooks and blank computer screens, snapshots of a mind deferred.
let's pontificate together, shall we?
righteousbabe05@gmail.com
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it’s that kind of night where the moon hangs low in the sky and slug trails glisten on the pavement like garland sprinkled across the sidewalk. the path of least resistance shimmering in the moonlight. i stop to watch them if their leaf colored bodies catch my eye, as they move through the darkness; a slow motion display of elegance, leaving behind only mere traces of themselves which quickly fade with the rising sun. if only you were more like a slug, and your presence in my life was more like their trails. but it felt like i was born that night in your arms and never existed before you at all. for months you held me so close while we slept that in the mornings, the bed would be covered with sweat, our cheeks still touching, as if our sleeping bodies knew how short our time would be. sheets sealing in the mixture of your cold heart and mine, naive and warm. i still think of you sometimes, but the missing is different, it’s changed since my broken heart stumbled down your stairs, out your door and started picking up the shattered pieces i’d dropped along the way, retracing the many steps i’d taken across towns, state lines, street corners and subway cars. i’ve become much more like that slug nowadays, choosing my path a little more carefully, moving a little more slowly, and leaving a glistening trail behind me. reminders of how far i’ve come, how arduous the task of rebuilding has been, my slug trails, strings of tinsel twinkling beneath my feet, wink in the moonlight, patiently awaiting the sun’s return. as i glide along and peacefully slip into the darkness.
i’m letting things happen naturally, hoping something will grow organically for once. not forced, but patient, calm, evolving. i know it will be worth the wait. until then, there’s so much waiting for me to discover around every corner: art, literature, meaning, ideas, beauty, myself—over and over. and her, a delicate flower on a separate path, growing and waiting for our trajectories to collide.
The meaning of my thoughts started to float away from me, like leaves that fall from a tree into a river, I was the tree, the world was the river.
— jonathan safran foer, extremely loud & incredibly close
it’s hard to accept that once lovers can turn into distant strangers in a matter of weeks, days, even seconds. that someone you once held so close that you weren’t sure where they ended and you began can suddenly be eons away, fizzling out like a shooting star in a foreign sky. the touch of their skin to yours, their face so close up that you memorize every line, every curve. it all becomes a distant memory, like a movie you saw as a child but can’t remember the plot, or a fading dream that you somehow have trouble forgetting. a haunting ghost of the past in every place you once shared, evaporating like the rain after a summer shower on the hottest day of the year, like steam rising up and spreading across the sky.
i watch as the sun rises beyond the snow covered mountains, wisps of fog drifting up toward the sky. everything is calm, everything is divine. i watch the pink sun paint the sky, the clouds, the snow. i don’t make a sound. i revel in the beauty before me, for it is mine forever. i long to share this moment of joy with no one, and for that i will not apologize. these are my hills, this is my sky. and that is my pink sun, warming my frost bitten skin, bringing me back to life.
small piles of glass from my shattered window sit on the sidewalk in bed-stuy, telling the timeless story of destruction. the viper alarm system sticker holds together a few broken shards in irony. miniscule glass flakes stick to my clothes, reminding me that nothing is permanent, not even a window. now i’m driving on the highway, an oddly warm january breeze blowing through my nonexistent driver’s side window, and surprisingly, i feel free. thank you brooklyn.
it should not be denied….that being footloose has always exhilarated us. it is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations, with absolute freedom, and the road has always led west.
— wallace stegner
salt sticks to the soles of my shoes and crunches on the dirty sidewalk. everything is turning white today. snow is sticking to my eyelashes, stinging my tired eyes. i hate the winter and i hate the cold, but i secretly love when it snows. everything is cloaked under a blanket of flaky white crystals, and for a moment in time i forget all that grime underneath; the once familiar world becomes a brand new scene with endless possibilities. if only i could capture that fleeting feeling, that inspiring perspective, i’d never let it go. yet it always fades away, just like the inevitable melting of this snowflake on my cheek.
