It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t even a thing, and in this moment, I am fully aware that I miss something that is not you.
As I try to pin that down, I unpackage my own head in a manner so that after this ordeal, I may simply wrap my memories of you up so neatly that it would appear untouched. I do this carefully, but quickly, as I fear the lingering of your face in the forefront of my brain serves no justice for my heart and what it may one day ache to fawn over once more. So, like a child preserving her favorite wrappings on an early Christmas morning, I lift the tape and unfold the creases in the paper, remembering how I once boxed these contents and carefully put them away, only to unveil my thoughts now that are so deeply pressed with you.
Continue reading “A box, tucked away”
The music was louder than normal. The lights bright, pink, and piercing through the light fog of the dance room. I was laughing like a lion and dancing how you imagine I would. It was midnight, and 30 seconds into the song before I realized what was playing. Our song.
I felt as if I was searching for something I knew I wouldn’t find throughout the night—as if you’d teleport to this bar 3,000 miles away—but now that you’ve filled my ears I regret finding you.
It was a mistake to snapchat you the scene of the dance floor even though we admitted that we wanted to talk again like nothing is different. We were more ourselves with each other than we are with anyone, but now, everything has changed.
Continue reading “When it broke.”
The phrasing goes something like, “you summoned that,” or the obvious, “we were just talking about them.” Regardless of who or what it is, you spent time thinking about something and now it is in front of you again. Whether a good, bad, or neutral thing, how do you react to that? Do you think of it as a sign? Do you let it pass like any other countless coincidence?
These aren’t rhetorical questions—I’m super serious. I always tell myself these things are coincidence or clever marketing, but when I try to avoid a piece of my life for years, mention a name *one* time, and have apparently urged a living being to interact in my life, I don’t know what to think.
Continue reading “Manifesting”
I’m writing this because we can’t go through another breaking point. We are already broken. There is talk that our cities will never recover right now—and that’s a terrifying thought—but I worry more about the people of the cities, the people of suburbs, and the people of rural towns. My neighbors in Brewerytown are terrified. We spent time yesterday to talk about the protests and the wake of the events that are still unfolding before us in Philadelphia.
We talked about George Floyd, about cops, about riots, and looting, and then we talked about white skin, black skin, and the color we both bleed. And then I listened.
I listened as a mother and daughter talked about their fears of destruction plowing through our neighborhood at night, about how heartbreaking it is to have been silenced to the point where some feel the need to break out. I listened as another woman was visibly shaken over the idea of armed national guardsmen storming up our street. I listened because I’ve been heard for my entire life and not everyone has.
Continue reading “2020.”