hoarder of emotions, sucker for aesthetics, lazy writer of things, cliché at heart.
In real life, I probably was not even in your womb yet, if I were to write this to the 25-year old version of you. Hearing your stories make me wish I witnessed so much of what you did in your twenties; Not only that, I want to be there to encourage…
Dear Mixed CD,
After all these years, I’ve finally mustered the courage to speak to you again. There were days you were loved and listened to, over and over again. But just because I haven’t been around, doesn’t mean I have loved you any less.
Read it three ways: the bolded, the italicized or both.
sitting on the cusp of age swimming in a world so vast.
i want to write my narrative freely, wildly, untroubled
my eyes reddened to the smokethe music deafening, the lights blinding,
yet amid the chaos, i took a sip my head, heavy from the thumping,
This is New York; what more should I ask? Just these past few days, I’ve been trying to find a friend for a bar night out to no avail. But today, I made the decision to explore New York bars off the beaten path. On my own.
