Coffee and Music

I go through phases when coffee and music are part of my day, and I go through phases when coffee and music are my day. The past six weeks life has been cup after cup and this playlist on repeat. So I thought I would share it with you. 

Enjoy!

[as a side note, i want to say thank for all the sweet comments on the past few posts. one of the things i like about blogging is being able to somewhat interact with you all by responding to your comments. i went to respond (weeks late, i know) to your comments and i realized how very, very far behind i am. so rather than post responses a month later, i just wanted to take the time now to say thank you, thank you, thank you for the kind and encouraging words over the past couple of months. i love reading your comments - they make my day - and i'll be better about replying from now on. promise!]

Sunset Park, Brooklyn

[More to come if I ever am able to catch up here...]

the knowing

You undo me. Do you know that? You must, unless I've convinced you that you don't. After all these years, you still know my heart, no? Of course, you do.

I'm afraid to put this here, afraid your eyes might pass by this space once and again. Afraid every wall I've built between us will come crumbling down, if you should read this.

But tonight, I'm undone. Black eyeliner smeared below my lashes, wiped onto my fingers. Three hours to respond because I hate the answer as much as you. Hate that I have to say no. Hate that I am always the one to say no. The walls I built on my natural boundaries are heavy, heavy stone. Every muscle aches as I hold them up, wishing I didn't have to haul every boulder and pile them high. Keep them high. To keep us apart.

I wish we were good for each other. We were and we were and were until we weren't. I wish I could have built this stone wall there. Set the we were and the we weren't apart instead of setting us apart. And yet, maybe we never were. Can you answer that better than I?

I hate how much I hurt you, how much I still hurt you, how much you must hate me. And you can say "No, no, no, that's not true. I am fine, never better." And this time I won't believe you. I still know your heart as well as you know mine. It isn't until neither of us hate the no that I can say yes.

Until then, every bone in my body shatters when you ask. Every last breath of mine is drawn when I say no. How to hurt you least is what I measure. You put it in my hands. I am in pieces, but it is in tact.

We think we are forever. Your forever, a hand on the small of my back, the weight of my body laying next to you. My forever, a phone call with a rambling assortment of the day's thoughts, laughter that never ends. Our forevers diverge and never cross. I never need a reminder, you always forget.

You must think how terrible I am now to always say no. I think how terrible I was to never say no. I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know until I did. I know now.

There is no undoing the knowing. It undoes me.

Rough Edges & Gentle Beginnings

I eat an embarrassing amount of 99 cent pizza slices on the sidewalk. Covered in cheap garlic powder. A subway rail broke the other day. We waited underground for over a half hour only to turn around and head back in the direction from which we had departed. I got off at the next stop and transfered and transfered and transfered, five times I transfered, and arrived at school almost three hours after I left my house. Which is only an hour longer than my regular commute. My days are long. The fridge and freezer aren't working and my living situation is "eh". It didn't really stand a chance as I come from the best of the best when it comes to roommates, but it says something when I am the first one to notice the fridge isn't working. I am tired, and always almost-overwhelmed, and remembering what my face looks like with dark circles under my eyes.

There are a hundred promises I made to myself about this year that I have already broken.

But I have kept the most important one - be gentle on yourself.

It has made all the difference.

There are still goofy grins during mid-slice bites and a rush of grateful tears on the third platform of the five transfers. I live in this city. How lucky am I? I somehow managed to get here, rough edges and all. Tired, tired eyes with a lit-up heart. I stumbled my way into this life, a life that finally feels like mine, and if it means shoulders sore from a heavy backpack or half and half sour from a broken fridge, then pass the sour half and half, please.

It's hard to write these days. It's all a gush; it's all a complaint; it's all never quite right. Too much time I don't have passes and I give up looking for that middle ground. For something more than middle ground, something elevated higher than middle ground. Be gentle on yourself. So I am. So I will be. Life is hard. Life is wonderful. Right now, I wouldn't have it any other way.