new york city, december 2017

“As the ship glided up the river, the city burst thunderously upon us in the early dusk the white glacier of lower New York swooping down like a strand of a bridge to rise into uptown New York, a miracle of foamy light suspended by the stars. A band started to play on deck, but the majesty of the city made the march trivial and tinkling. From that moment I knew that New York, however often I might leave it, was home.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, My Lost City

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words december 2017

Ossining, NY
I miss the memories I associated with you.

The nights spent on the train, rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

I miss the way you’d grip my thigh while you were driving, occasionally taking my hand in your own and kissing my fingertips softly.

When we spoke, we spoke eagerly with a hunger to devour one another. You smelled pleasantly of something not quite obtainable, but it intoxicated me. We dove into each other head first, bleeding in each other’s mouths until we could no longer clean up the mess. It will take time, unraveling your soul from mine. But I remember that night on the phone when I begged for a reason and you replied,

 we will always be in flux

I could not argue with that.Processed with VSCO with m5 presetDecember 9, 2017: First snow fall of winter in NYC

December 15, 2017
God I do believe his mouth is some sort of heaven; his lips are a wine of which I desperately want to be drunk. It is true that I may never be able to rid myself of him completely. He will always be within me, a fiery desire that will never burn out.

Him
Consume me, my dear,
want me down to the bone.
stain my sheets with your presence,
do not leave me alone.

December 16, 2017
Kissing has always been one of the nicest – and one of the most economical – ways to spend an evening.
– The Salt Lake Tribune, Utah, September 10, 1950

I never wanted a quiet, sensible sort of love. I wanted to be devoured.
– Beau Taplin, The Devouring

December 17, 2017
For the past few months I lost sight of who I was. What I wanted. Everything in my life was tinted with an inarticulate grey fog. I began carelessly seeing men twice my age, only to feel empty and alone every night, cursing myself for not making better choices. I lost faith in the idea of love. Commitment. Finding a man who truly cares about me. I found myself on the train every weekend, the destination always the same. The ride there full of empty promises, the ride back filled with disappointment. Each time I hoped to find home in someone else’s bed. To fill the lonely void boring a hole inside me. There was so much love inside me that was being wasted – I craved a meaningful connection and committed foundation, and that was not what I was receiving.
Processed with VSCO with m3 preset Processed with VSCO with m5 presetDecember 3, 2017: My favorite coffee shop, Stumptown Coffee Roasters, in the West Village

December 12, 2017
My thoughts are bleeding from my skull,
down my cheeks,
into my eyes.

December 13, 2017
It’s a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind.
– Nagulb Mahfouz

December 14. 2017
My heart has bled
In your mouth
And you have left me
To clean up the mess
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December 9, 2017: Freehold, NJ

flux

An Affair
Yes my love, I desire you, I always will. Your blood is in my veins. It will take time, unraveling your soul from mine. But something deep within me knows you will destroy me in the end. I cannot stand to be just another passing fancy or fleeting love affair; I crave infinitely more. You must realize that with my body comes my thoughts, dreams, mind… and you do not want to see any of those.
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Heaven
God I do believe his mouth is some sort of heaven; his lips are a wine of which I desperately want to be drunk. It is true that I may never be able to rid myself of him completely. He will always be within me, a fiery desire that will never burn out.

Flux
n. – a state of continuous change

I miss the memories I associated with you.

The nights spent on the train, rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

I miss the way you’d grip my thigh while you were driving, occasionally taking my hand in your own and kissing my fingertips softly.

When we spoke, we spoke eagerly with a hunger to devour one another. You smelled pleasantly of something not quite obtainable, but it intoxicated me. We dove into each other head first, bleeding in each other’s mouths until we could no longer clean up the mess. It will take time, unraveling your soul from mine. But I remember that night on the phone when I begged for a reason and you replied,

 we will always be in flux

I could not argue with that.
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Lust
the thought of his body on mine
makes my mouth water
and my knees grow weak
but when he opens his mouth
all I hear is white noise

Monsters
you and I are monsters
devouring each other
without digesting ourselves

Love
The greatest intimacy
between lovers
lies in the absence of speech
the space between two bodies
where souls intertwine
a connection
that will never be broken
by the words of a spiteful tongue
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Writer’s Block
take the breath
from my open mouth
you have all my words
anyways

Oceans
And so we lay there, our breathing in sync, his head resting on my shoulder and our legs intertwined. For just a moment, all was at peace within me.

The next morning, I woke up confused and emotionally bruised yet again. I had spent the night slipping in and out of consciousness, lying awake watching him sleep, feeling like there was an ocean between us that I would never be able to cross. Some things are not meant to be my mind whispered.
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begin again

What is coming is better than what has gone.

It was October. Candles were lit. Bob Dylan played softly in the background as a cool autumn breeze drifted through the window. Home. Peace and quiet. My cell phone had been off for the past several days, and I had no intention of turning it back on. The last rays of golden hour warmed my face. I could feel my life changing again, and for the first time in a long time it felt bittersweet. The security of the past few months, the happiness I felt, somehow seemed distant and unreachable. But what is coming is better than what has gone my mom used to always tell me. Starting over. There was a certain peace to this. A blank canvas to paint. A better self to discover. A new story to write. I began to find relief in this realization, sitting there in my childhood home. What is coming is better than what has gone.