As fate would have it, the love of my life is leaving for thirty seven days. I understand the commitments of global citizenship. But fuck. Am I going to be one cranky scribe.
Scrittrice. Continue reading
The neighbors didn’t know if they loved or hated what they were hearing.
But they definitely heard. Because the two of us weren’t quiet.
Like, when I exhaled, the bed frame rattled. And when he whispered, the floor vibrated.
And the entire time, we smoked and drank espresso. There was nothing in the refrigerator, except for dark chocolate (90%!) and champagne. I always kept a fresh glass of water on the night table, the one on my side of the bed.
My spine opened wider every time I twisted toward him.
Everyone talked about us while we spoke Italian to each other; within the August heat of a New York City sun, in the center of midtown Manhattan – not far from Grand Central station – underneath a cloudless sky.
We would speak to each other with our lips touching, a low song that no one else had ever sang to me before.
I only wore dresses. Not very much makeup. Only Chanel lipstick that he picked out for me, and which didn’t usually work out. I ordinarily kissed it off on the first napkin to reach me during one of our days spent walking the city together – before his tongue was in my mouth again.
We talked about family and architecture and traveling, mostly. Sometimes orchestra. Sometimes poetry… (excerpt)
ex·cerpt | noun
1. a short extract from a piece of music or writing.
per me. e noi
prima che qualcuno
avuto la possibilità
a lampeggiare. sognare …
prima non avrei mai potuto
Che si adatta un certo
forma; H e I
E i miei occhi
ha aperto. le mie labbra
it was like
he looked out
for me. and we
fell in love
had a chance
to blink. to dream…
prior to i could never
that fits one certain
shape; he and i
and my eyes
opened. my lips
mi ha baciata
ho lampeggiato. aprire.
5 del mattino. all’alba. Continue reading
Tahiti is everything I needed. Even though I had a nervous breakdown about it like 72 hours ago…
Meanwhile, I have fallen madly in love with an Italian luthier. I don’t even have anything to say about it. I mean, I have everything to say about it – but it’s a new shade of sacred to me.
Sacred, in my life, tends to involve secrets. So I probably won’t talk too much about him in these parts. But put short, he builds double basses and sends me Chopin songs. I’m not sure what I could possibly follow that up with… Continue reading