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.
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.
I bumped my head the night we met and never saw things the same way again.
The second day I saw him, we walked down a boardwalk along a salt-scented Brooklyn coastline. He wore sweatpants and a baseball hat and we talked about him being first generation and me having left for a decade. We comment on the different shades of green blossoms in each other’s eyes. He kisses me at Cony Island, on the subway and all other kinds of pubic places. Continue reading
So I dumped the Frenchman. We parted with respect to irreconcilable differences. He’ll always be the lover who brought me gifts every time we were together and made me art when we were apart. I’ll think of him fondly.
In other news, I spent eight weeks recently floating on a boat. I sailed down the eastern seaboard, around a few islands, then back up to the city where I continue to freeze. Part of my love affair with Australia is based on the Queensland weather; but there are so many other parts. One part, who in fact, will be arriving on my doorstep in just a tad over 24hours.
My recent spat of heart breaking and boat riding taught me a few things. Considering that I feel all I can ask from of life is knowledge – this will appease me for awhile. I’m looking very forward to my next excursion to Tahiti, where I will isolate myself in an over water hut and write until my fingers fall off.
FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.