October.

Leer en español. When I live October, I wrap myself with more tea, fresh flowers, long walks. When I live October, I collect the air; and though this October is different, I breathe in and let myself be. With my complications, with my qualities and the isms that I carry inside. A few Octobers ago, maybe four or five, I decided I wanted to make a change in my health. After four years of taking what I called “happy pills”, I decided that I didn’t need to take them anymore. The “happy pills”, or antidepressants, helped me through a difficult Read More

looking out my window

I woke up this morning to someone playing “Beauty and the Beast” on a flute, somewhere from a window on the other side of our apartment building. I walk out onto the balcony, and so do our neighbors down below. We ask him to play another song, because today there is no rush. Today, there’s time. At noon, we hear a ballad of pans from children on a terrace. The metal music creates an echo between our buildings. From a distance, we smile at each other, and we feel close. Tonight at eight, we will see each other again. We Read More

Re-

I walk past the fruit shop every day except for Mondays, when I actually walk in and buy about 6 euros worth of fruit for the week. Mandarinas are in right now, and kiwis. I’ve been buying fresh ginger and lemon for the past month to fight off colds. It’s mostly been working so I buy some more. I say bye to the fruit man, my roommate knows his name. He nods and smiles. He is beginning to recognize me. I have lived in almost every part of this city now. Two townhouses, three apartments. A room, an attic, a Read More

circles

“Nothing is a straight line or even a labyrinth but a squirrelly maze I trace and retrace almost every day for whatever thoughts that might arrive as I walk in circles, truer circles described inside of circles, having learned that I need to get lost, a parade of one, to find my calling, then lost again, to find my own way home.” Richard Cole, ” Walking in Circles” I find a lot of comfort in these words, knowing that this labyrinth-like path is not out of the ordinary. I pretend this isn’t the case. I have crafted my reality into Read More

small thoughts on process.

A couple of summers ago, I tried reading the first Lord of the Rings (just to say that I have) and I cannot remember much because I stopped at like page 38. But I read enough to hear Bilbo, I think, say some words that few other statements have stayed with me for so long: “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” The context refers to needing rest because of age, which I don’t relate to. But the first time I read this, my attention and energy were divided into so many different areas Read More

in between

I’ve been wondering lately about the phrase “pocket of time”. It first came up in a book, and then in a conversation, and now I cannot seem to get it out of my head. I think it is like a splurge of minutes, days or years that seem to curve at a beginning and an end, without giving us much warning of when. The more I’ve thought about it, the more pockets I’ve picked: an aloof moment of melancholy at the sight of a rain, a feeling of lightness throughout a good conversation, an arbitrary spot of inspiration. I’ve started Read More

my heart is red

My heart is red over the grass that settles between my two homes and the blood on the streets. My heart is red over the thought of my friends and the walk through Main Street. I hear the laughter that rolls out of our lungs, a ballad that laces my mind with spring. I hear the violinist’s ode.  She plays, and our minds dance. A crowd of loners gather, we hold out our selves into the tiny circle: a mixture of stories and accents, held silent by her ode. The City leans in, and our skin drinks deep from the Read More

different

Soft rays peek into the room, melting streaks of gold onto the wooden floor. Here, it is quiet, and it is safe. All the thoughts of yesterday and all the thoughts of tomorrow collide. Who I am, here and now, is different than who I was yesterday, though that girl often returns. She steps in quietly like a thief, dragging a suitcase into my room. She unzips it open, talking about the things I want to forget, reminding me of the things I still don’t have. At this point, I tend to shove her out. “I don’t need your ¿?, I Read More