the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: heartbreak (page 13 of 14)

mandatory retreat

mandatory retreat

You show up unannounced again, three days after I say I can’t see you anymore and six weeks after we meet. I would have told you not to come. But you caught me off guard, like the day I first saw you.

There are things that I do and things that I have done that you will never know. It’s why you can’t keep coming here. It’s why I never should have agreed to see you twice.

You think things about me that are not true. I order my fourth drink during our third dinner together and you say, “Man, I can’t drink like that, especially not on a weeknight.” Continue reading

directions of destruction

directions of destruction

i cut my wrist. vertical. crashing. slay.
horizontal. a lay down way to say
these are the ways that i hurt myself. pay.
choking descriptions of “it’s a bad day”.
i am telling you what i never speak. Continue reading

sia times two

Lately when I obsess over a new music act, I end up finding a slew of tracks to fill my days with. Like during my recent Moto Boy and Allen Stone tangents, for example. Sia has proven no different. After my Chandelier rant yesterday, I went to work and listened to the whole album – which is how I came across Elastic Heart.

This is the song you want to scream in your ex’s face after you’re let down, again. I’d definitely like to scream it in my first husband’s face. He really deserves that. Continue reading

impulse ignition

impulse ignition

i wrote. poetry. for and about him.
too far to speak. i metered emotion.
off switch. flick. let’s live like there’s no within.
like my heart un-heavy, my song unsung;
desire to explain an… impossible. Continue reading

sunday thai

It’s just after noon in a small Thai joint somewhere in the east 30’s on the corner of Madison.

I enter the establishment wearing a t-shirt with a typewriter on it appropriately labeled “writer” in courier print; a tipped Kangol hat; and a pair of men’s carpenter pants, cut to fall halfway down my muscular calves. It’s hot outside.

The “shorts” once belonged to my second husband, and someone before that because they were second-hand like everything else about him. The t-shirt was a birthday present from the first. Divorce is impossible, I’ve learned. It never goes away.

The restaurant is empty and both of the gorgeous Thai serves, one male, one female – both 20 something – are over the moon to see me.

“You’re open right?” I ask knowing that they obviously are but grabbing the chance to flirt with the pair of them.IMG_2143

“Yes, yes!” they say smiling and speaking at the same time.

“Which table? Any table you like.”

I take off my hat and grab a bench seat toward the front where natural light is still flooding in, prior to when the sun tips too far west and afternoon shadows cast. But before I actually land in the seat I say, “Thai beer?”

“Singha?”

“Yes, please.” Continue reading

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