the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: mischief (page 2 of 4)

when brooklyn has your back

img_6829Last night I was in Brooklyn licking raw Luthier wounds. One of my favorites made the evening, like always.

I tipped topless women and laughed loudly. I was twirled to tracks that played on a juke box in a Cony Island bar, catching up with a bartender I used to see regularly.

I had fun for the first time since my birthday. Last week was a little whack. Continue reading

Twenty hours

About 20 hours from now, my plane will take off from JFK to Berlin, and then fly from Berlin to Rome. Continue reading

day eight.

It’s about three am. There’s a reason I haven’t been around for four days.

I’ve spent most of the time feeling bad for myself, generally self-loathing. Some of this behavior I put back to my non-traditional upbringing. Most of it I put to the fact that the absence of the love of my life has me slowly suffocating.

Considering that I have never been in a relationship of a comparable capacity, with any man, my entire life… prior to now – it’s safe to say nothing like this has been mentioned in my corner of web-land over the past close to nine years.

Dudes, that’s like a decade of my life. Continue reading

excerpt

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
?ek?s?rpt/
1. a short extract from a piece of music or writing.

when he claps back

We made up. That was the worst fight ev-ER.IMG_3323

I don’t fight with anyone. I leave. My boyfriend refers to me as a “flight risk”. That is a bit of my mantra.

There’s more than one reason that I have two passports.

I’ve been in Brooklyn since Friday. Later on today, when I’m done with work, I’m going to write filthy stories about Cony Island.

I’ll post one tonight.

There’s something about Anthony and I that is utterly divine. We’re never allowed to fight again. We promised.

The clap of our argument was beyond. There were bad things said and I was fed-exing notebooks of words.

And then we spent four days making up. We made up all over the place. My apartment, his place, the back of a yellow cab, Cony Island beach, the boardwalk, various Brooklyn sidewalks…

For me to have gotten as upset as I did, I can only assume he’s forever.

IMG_3346The secrets I have with him are my favorite. I care about him to the extent of intimidation. Chemistry is a drastic understatement.

When the two of us get together, my life starts. I occupy my time in between with Writing and skyscrapers and all of these things I came back to Manhattan for. But when he and I are within a physical proximity of one another, everything changes.

I have to wash my face and go to work. I’m currently in my panties, wearing his shirt, slightly hung over.

No matter. I’ve got this.

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