I wake up sometimes. In the middle of the night. As if my mind refuses to accept that the sun has fallen asleep beneath the obscure covers of the night sky. I forget sometimes. What it feels like to truly feel. What your skin felt like against mine. What laughter from deep within the core felt like.
I remember all night conversations. Your teeth glowing and my eyes wide awake. I remember facial expressions. Lit by the moon and stars peeking through the broken bedroom window. Without distractions, movies, or intoxications. A cup of tea, perhaps, with our voices adding a soft buzz to the silent night. Midnight bees and honey playing on repeat.
I remember the sweetness in your voice and how quickly we were both exposed with each syllable. Do you remember that strange morning the smell of blown out candles and mildew filled the room? A collection of forgotten fragments of time we let fade away.
I wake up sometimes. Afraid of what our world is becoming. Yet overcome with bewilderment at how alive I feel. Plants will grow. Pesticides will dissolve the truth. And rain will wash away the faces we pretend to be.
I forget sometimes. Who you once were. Who I once was. As if my past was sketched by an imaginary friend whose name I never really knew. Across distant lands and unfamiliar faces.
There is no time to stare down old dusty tunnels or to dissect the cob webs that attempted to contain us. There are deep and diluted pockets within my heart. Like a childhood friend you let slip away. I will wake up again. As spring flowers begin to bud and the sun shines through my very own opaque covers.
I will remember those feelings again.
"We’re just a little too caught up in the way the world sees us. And the way my people see yours. And the way our people see ourselves."
Bravo ladies. Beautiful performance.
Rest in Peace Gabriel Garcia Marquez
An excerpt from “A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings” (written in 1968):
"On the third day of rain they had killed so many crabs inside the house that Pelayo had to cross his drenched courtyard and throw them into the sea, because the newborn child had a temperature all night and they thought it was due to the stench. The world had been sad since Tuesday. Sea and sky were a single ash-gray thing and the sands of the beach, which on March nights glimmered like powdered light, had become a stew of mud and rotten shellfish. The light was so weak at noon that when Pelayo was coming back to the house after throwing away the crabs, it was hard for him to see what it was that was moving and groaning in the rear of the courtyard. He had to go very close to see that it was an old man, a very old man, lying face down in the mud, who, in spite of his tremendous efforts, couldn’t get up, impeded by his enormous wings…"
Therefore, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…. be happy about your growth, in which of course you can’t take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn’t necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust…. and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
"Glow in the darkness, that’s how we do it."
"For women who are tied to the moon, love alone is not enough. We insist each day wrap it’s knuckles through our heart strings and pull. The lows. The joy. The poetry. We dance at the edge of a cliff, you have fallen off. So it goes. You will climb up again.
You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. Like a shawl to keep you warm at night. Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse. Even if it has slipped from your hands, it will stay in your body.
You loved a man who treated you like absinthe, half poison and half god. He tried to sweeten you, to water you down. So you left. And now you have your heart all to yourself again. A heart like a stone cottage. Heart like a lover’s diary. Hope like an ocean.” - Anais Nin
Madeleine Peyroux- Between the Bars (Elliott Smith cover)
I’ve been digging a lot lately. Potting and repotting plants. I have an affinity for the sun and dirt. I love getting my hands and nails dirty beyond recognition. The Edgewood Community Garden has become my sanctuary. My internship there has been one of the most fulfilling commitments I have made in a while. Finally, a place to dig and dig and dig. Until my arms are sore and it’s time for lunch. We did yoga in the garden this morning amongst soggy leaves on the ground and birds singing. The rain eventually came, rinsed our faces, and we continued digging. I love contributing to my city by making it a more beautiful place for others to enjoy. I also love making a piece of bare land bloom with life from scratch. Today has been good to me so far. I am working on appreciating my surroundings rather than complaining about still dwelling in the same city I was born in. Change will come when it is time, and beauty can be found in all places.