January 11, 2010

• I love reading books quickly. I love when the book surrounds me and I fall into the world that the writer has created for me, in my mind. I wish I had the ability to do it - I know I did once.. where it went, I couldn't tell you.

  My hands are terribly cold. I want to learn how to use my sewing machine. Sometimes I miss things like having blue hair, the last cold day I spent in the city, the last cup of hot chocolate I had at Porto Rico in the Village. The last time I was at West 4th street, the grey New York City winter sky. (after writing this I immediately think of the song, "The Boxer" by Simon and Garfunkle.)

  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find someone who will get me. I ache for that sort of connection late at night. Numbing it out with chemicals never works.

  I reach out, hoping maybe I can still salvage something from him. instead I get sarcastic remarks.

  I walk alone.

  I miss that the most about the city. The ability to just walk around my neighborhood. Short blocks, long blocks, places where I could melt into the background.
  The Strand. The fucking Strand. A mile of books. I could walk around there for hours.
  My heart aches for New York. For companionship. For art. For something more than silence.

  • 10:23 pm
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