A Love Letter of Sorts

It’s Tuesday and I’m meeting a friend for drinks in the Village. I take the E train down to W 4th Street, and as always when I exit, I look for One World Trade to catch my bearings and walk in the opposite direction.

It’s warm for December and as I enjoy the short stroll I miss the entrance for the bar. I’m more than halfway down the block before I realize I should’ve passed it already and double back. My friend impatiently texts me, asking where I am even though I’m barely two minutes late.

The entrance is easy…

Unsplash | @nasa

It is late September. The sun is crisp as we stroll through the botanical garden — a few extra minutes among the trees before we head back to our college friend’s wedding ceremony. You tell me about work and I tell you about moving to Manhattan. I applied to business school at Columbia, you say, and for a moment I imagine what it’d be like to live in the same city again. It is not the first time I imagine it.

After the sun sets and the speeches are over, I watch you dance from our table as I slip…

Unsplash | @patrickian4

52 Prompts for 52 Weeks

I had a whole plan.

I’m not a big fan of resolutions or the idea that new years are new starts and we can wash ourselves of the old ones just like that. New year, new me? Honey, don’t worry, old you is right around the corner waiting to show up two, three weeks from now. Time is arbitrary and meaningless. You can try to new you it again in May if you want. No one’s stopping you.

And yet, despite all that, I did give myself one goal. It wasn’t anything super crazy or life changing. I just wanted…

Unsplash | @jonflobrant

I need to get out of here, I mutter to myself as I race down the steps, almost trampling a distracted texter, only to narrowly miss the slamming of the subway doors.

I’m over New York, I tell my friend when I reach the bar, hair and shirt plastered to my body from the heat and humidity.

When are we moving? I ask my boyfriend. We speculate that it’ll be in a year, maybe two, max, but then again, I’ve been saying next year for almost two years now.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, sings the mantra in my head, but then I…

Unsplash | @scottwebb

I am five and our car crashes into a walk signal
in the downpour on the way to swim class.
Someone calls 911 and I cry in the backseat because
they will take my mom away even though she tells me
it’s an accident but that’s what police do I say

I am seven and it is summer and
the single mulberry tree in
my elementary school park is ripe with
berries so we hit the branches with
long sticks and watch it rain.

I am ten and Jenny’s mom pulls her out of class in the morning because her…

I’ve been to this concert before, in a way. The first time was an accident, the artist was an opener for a band I meant to see. I didn’t even remember his name, just that his only song on Spotify at the time was in a playlist I called on repeat. The second time was at the top of The Standard Hotel, at a free show I stumbled across days earlier on the internet.

The third time was tonight, at a sold out show at Webster Hall, some two odd years later. Surreal, isn’t it, to watch a room fill…

Unsplash | @marvelous

and Chris asks us if we have any ideas for if we open a restaurant one day and Michael says he wants to start a fried rice specialty shop and Lisa says she’d like a gourmet grilled cheese joint and I open my mouth to talk about Snack Casual, my idea for a fast casual appetizer counter, but instead I tell them about Patrick.

It was two a.m. on a school night, a Wednesday maybe, and some of us had class the next morning, but we were sitting around pretending to write essays and study, when my friend Patrick told…

Unsplash | @paultrienekens

Do you remember lying on the empty streets of Nevada, just us and the road, dotted yellow line to the horizon, tar patches and gravel shoulders and the purple mountains peaking in the distance? We shouted into nothing, our voices swallowed by the sky, that boundless blue, but it had nothing on Montana, big sky country, they called it, endless, even when the clouds closed in, even when it was pitch black, our path illuminated by lightening and the sound of our voices, forgetting the words to a song to hide the rumbling of thunder, but that thunder had nothing…

Jing Jing

word vomit.

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