the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: soul (page 3 of 63)

one time



TWO TIME

welcome september

Someone I was almost friends with commented over the summer about how I write poems in various languages. This inspired a throw back to last year when I was spitting love all kinds of European ways.

Talking to one of my favorite wedding guests today, we chuckled that I’ve married three men on three different continents. Continue reading

three times lucky

It occurred to me last week, when we were signing our marriage license, that (once upon a time) I was divorced, married and then divorced again in a 15-month period. Talk about some sheeeeeeeet. Continue reading

i still fuck with you

some(x)
(timez)

when we walked
these
creatures and
things kept. moving
we swam
in salt—
water. and (8)ate
in be(tween)
verses. we did (k)not
talk. a—
bout; the most
remarkable. period
of time: getting t(o)wo(o)…
MUCH.
there. a/our/e functions
how no one will
ever. as we keep
singing. i love saying
no—
thing.

engaged in spain

Namaste love tribe

Since I’ve fallen back in blah-gville. I’ve reconnected with my pre-2009 private self. Back before I decided to spend a few years using daily rants as a visualization tool to get me to New York City.

My time in Manhattan is on the decline. I’m not leaving tomorrow or anything, but my plotting and scheming game is on. I’m making plans, throwing darts, keeping secrets swallowed and grinning a lot in general.

During a recent impromptu trip to Spain, the most spiritually centered, global citizen I’ve encountered proposed forever.

How could I say no to that?

Interestingly, while I’ve had 1.5 husbands, neither of them proposed. It was more an agreement to bind to each other in a way we felt the state required. It was never about forever.

Certainly nothing like this. And this man, well – I’ll be keeping the details to mySelf.

But we totally need to talk about Spain…

I spent a week eating tapas, rolling through waves and drinking chilled Spanish reds. We smoked cigars and watched shooting stars. From the most southern point of Europe, I gazed across to the shores of Africa.

Between Madrid and southern Spain, we drove through mountains of olive trees and weaved along rocky coastline. I swam in two different oceans and heard Spanish spoken at lightning speed because, as my future husband advised, “We talk a lot faster in southern Spain.”

I stayed in three different houses, one with views of the sea from the bedroom balcony where the air reminded me of being home in Australia – scented with lavender and eucalyptus. I bathed in the Mediterranean as my man, a native of the land, approached me glowing in golden light declaring, “Stay with me forever.”

And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

In Spanish tradition, rings are worn on the right hand. A silver band represents engagement – gold is exchanged at the wedding.

Oh, and apparently I’ll be having something like that. Because according to my man. “You have never had this before, and I want to give that to you.” Continue reading

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