My first day back, I see Oliver. He calls and tells me to meet him at his apartment in Astoria. Two blocks from where I’m staying with Simon.
Oliver has cuts and thorns tattooed on his back. The word family on him arm. His best friend’s name, who he lost, on the back of his calve. I ask him if they hurt.
“Tattoos hurt. It’s not like, the most painful thing. But they’re definitely not comfortable.”
Oliver has a six pack. Narrow hips. Short clipped hair the same length as his beard. He collects sneakers. He often tells me I shouldn’t be around him. Continue reading
yet another book piece…
One day you just suddenly know. There isn’t anyone to teach you the way how the story books show. You choose to be aware, or wait the next turn. Anyone awake and over the age of thirteen will tell you this.
Some other people will tell you too.
I was near my favorite place in the woods. The place with a fifty foot waterfall and mossy rocks to run your bare toes along. That’s when the clouds opened and the warm rain fell. I didn’t notice the temperature that much though. But I remember being fascinated by the downpour without a single cloud in the sky.
I asked my parents and my younger brother about it afterwards. None of them noticed. That was one of the first clues.
And then I started developing the phobias. Continue reading
Dear blog family
It’s two in the morning. It was approximately 99 degrees fahrenheit today, 37 degrees celsius.
I wrote a story about it:
New York City heat is different. On a 99 degree day in July, you become saturated with whatever someone you’re standing beside on the subway platform.
I changed the locks before you knew I kicked you out. I asked the locksmith with dreadlocks who lives in Brooklyn and just returned from Egypt, “Is that normal?”
You and I don’t do normal things. That’s how we stay together. Continue reading
off guard. electricity.
The people next door are burning candles again.
Vine shaped shadows stretch across the roof of their twenty-second story penthouse. From your neighboring nineteenth floor studio, the flames look like lightning bugs.
You remember when you lit candles in the living room and she was glowing shades of copper and sap. You were far away from everything then.
She was never close again. Continue reading
Monica has the shape of your feet memorized. Considering the array of extraordinary between the pair of you, her unbelievable past and your unfathomable future – it is difficult to comprehend the way she absorbs such detail.
What you still fail to realize: while Monica notices small corners of any scenario, she doesn’t ordinarily recall eye color or tress shades.
She often writes about the azure tone you look to ask her with; your sandy, un-blonde locks. The color of north-western coast. Continue reading