Maybe

We were the best

Because feet freak me out a lot

And you always made sure to have socks on when we went to bed

Maybe.

We were the best

Because sometimes you forgot to eat breakfast

And I knew that anything and chocolate milk was the way to go

Maybe.

We were the best

Because at night when I cried about the little things

You were there to cup my face and wipe my eyes

Maybe.

We were the best

Because I couldn’t swim to save my life

And you were all but a fish, and a fighter one, at that

Maybe. 

We were the best

Because biology just never made sense to me

And you had a strange love for science that I’ll never understand

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because I don’t know a single country song

And you’re well on your way to becoming the next country star

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because New York City makes you nervous

And I was born in the heart of its busy streets

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because you know you want to go to medical school

And I know that four years is a very, very long time

Maybe. 

It was for the best

Because we both love sleep way too much

And can never get up earlier than noon on any given Sunday

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because you insisted on growing out your beard

And it tickled every time we kissed

Maybe.

It was for the best

Because you hate it when people talk during movies

And I have too many questions spinning around in my mind to keep quiet

But maybe we were the best

And all these bullshit excuses

Are just a way to make it out to ourselves

That maybe, just maybe, it really was for the best

The Problem with Naming Your Theoretical Children on a Drunken Friday Night

The problem with naming your theoretical children on a drunken Friday night isn't that they might not be pretty enough, or that you might not remember how to spell them right on their birth certificates when the time comes, or even that they might be in the Top 5 Most Common Baby Names in America. It's that now, you have full responsibility over those little named rascals, because before, they were just this idea, this possibility, and now, they're the real deal: all six of them. 

And now you both have to pick favorites, and sides, and decide the colors of their bedroom walls and who has to sleep in the same room as who. And who's going to get up at 3am tonight to feed them because you did it last night and he promised, but he's really tired from work and says he'll make up for it tomorrow night. And whether Phil is going to play football like his uncle or swim like his dad, and whether Becca is going to do ballet like she wants to or gymnastics like all the other girls at school. My loves, do what you love because nothing else will make you happier: not money, not fame, not anything at all.

And now you have to teach them how to share and say please and thank you, and that it's not okay to eat in church, but here's a bag of Cheerios Kate, sweetheart, just please stay quiet for the next hour or so, and Matt, please stop pulling on your sister's hair. And how you can only have cookies from the cookie jar after dinner, and even then you can only have one. And how 5 x 2 is 10 but 5 to the power of 2 is a whole 'nother thing, which is 25 by the way. But don't be too hard on yourself, because mistakes are okay and you are so much more than just a test grade.

And before you know it they'll be falling in love just like you two did on an elevator that first day of college way back when, and suddenly they'll be saying they don't need you anymore. And here come the dates and the curfews and the tears-- oh, the tears! And Addie swears she'll never find anyone ever again but honey you will, I promise you, you will, just give it some time.

And then before you know it they'll be getting  married and you'll be giving them away, and then it'll just be you two again. Because everyone has moved to other states to start lives of their own and you'll just be those old folks in some picture frames in their living rooms. And you'll be sitting on the back porch on a Sunday evening watching the sunset with a couple of drinks in hand, thinking to yourselves, "When did this all happen?"

And then you'll remember it was when you decided to name your theoretical children on a drunken Friday night, just the two of you alone in the dark, in your poster-filled dorm room. It was when you were wondering if you'd had too much to drink or if the warm feeling inside your chest was because of the way he was looking at you. It was when he said he loved you for the first time and you believed him, and oh sweetheart, it's okay that you did; I would have too. It was when you didn't know better because you're still learning, still growing, still hurting; but I promise you dear, it's why you're here.

FOR THREE WEEKS I BORROWED YOUR BOYFRIEND

1.
I took a quick glance at his phone screen
And there, in the tiny glowing square,
Were the words he was writing to you
But saying to me.

2.
We walked down Astor Place
And he mentioned you,
A quick slip of the tongue,
Slippery like the phrases I never let roll off mine.

3.
The subway swayed and he laid a hand on the small of my back
Steadying me, holding me in place.
But all I could see when I closed my eyes
Were him and you, swaying on the dance floor.

My Almost Romeo

There is something to be said about doing romantic things with unromantic people. About having picnics in Central Park with Italian wine and store-bought mozzarella cheese and assorted crackers, in the hopes of even slightly resembling Europe. About laying out on blankets in Bryant Park and watching  poorly delivered renditions of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, in desperate attempts to soak in every source of literature possible, regardless of quality. About getting on the last 6 train to Little Italy because of sudden hankerings for cannolis and gelato, despite having to spend the very last of dollar bills on subway fares. There is something to be said about existing in a medium so wonderfully crafted by things of love; but one where it cannot, and will not, exist.

Junior Year

I bit his lip

and filled his mouth

with my girlish laughter

because I was thinking
of the last word I said

before he planted
his boyish kiss on me:

Schizophrenia.

And I thought to myself,

wrapped in the unjustified murky air

of my parents' newly renovated basement,

Could I be schizophrenic?

Or maybe I had multiple personality disorder;

all the crazies melted into one big psychotic mess

on the glossy textbook page anyway.

 

Because this isn't me,

the girl laying
on the one-star quality mattress,

with his fingers
expertly unhooking my bra

and my amateur hand

trailing down the inside of his pants,

his zipper chipping away

at the $10 manicure I got last Wednesday.

This isn't me,

the girl drinking stale beer

in the back of a rundown Irish shack,

watching him empty
his confidence-infused brains

into a garbage can twice his size,

letting him nuzzle my neck

even though he reeked

of last night's home cooked dinner

and today's early lunch.

 

No.

 

No thank you,

this is just a version of me,

a deluded,
affection-hungry one;

the shell that was left
after you pushed me

out of our perfect nest,

with so much haste and fervor

that a few twigs made the trip down with me.

We Still Have Time

We as humans have a funny little habit of telling ourselves and one another that we still have time. We still have time until we don't.  We still have time until the day we've been silently dreading for weeks on end finally wedges its way into the present. We still have time until we are in the very moment of departure. And then we freeze. Our minds go blank and our bodies go numb, as if the universe is refusing to let us comprehend the concept of one last goodbye. What do we say? What do we do? Are words enough? Is one last embrace enough? So we get sloppy, and we start babbling about things we've already talked about; dead end statements that can't possibly be added onto. Perhaps we do it to fill the awkward air between us as we desperately try to search for something meaningful to say—something that'll stick. Perhaps we do it as to not let the other person know how much the present moment is ripping us apart inside. We fight the urge to look each other in the eye because we know if we do we'd never want to look away. We ditch the thought of trying to memorize each other's features because that in and of itself indicates that we'll only ever exist in each other's minds from here on out—and that's just not right. We shut down. We become emotionless robots. We give careless one armed hugs as to not let the gravity of the situation drag us down with it—at least then we still have some bits of our deluded fantasies to hold onto, even when reality is forcefully tugging us in the opposite direction. We turn our backs to each other and call out standard farewells, none of which even mean anything, really. We turn our backs to the sound of each other's voices, the ones that have been the symphonies of our daily lives for so long, as they echoed down halls, filled up rooms, and seeped into the tender cracks of our hearts. We turn our backs to the only goodbye that will ever really stay with us, rejecting its importance in a useless act of protest. We turn our backs even though we are fully aware of the risk we are taking. This could be the last, and we're wasting it. We lock up our hearts with such ferociousness because we're too afraid of everything that's left to say—everything we still need to say. We convince ourselves that it's not the last time, because we know it can't be. We won't let it be. We convince ourselves that we still have time. Because we still have time, until we don't. 

Here Lies the True Magic

When people talk about the magic of New York City, they always mention the flashing lights, the towering skyscrapers, and the endless amount of things to do. The Broadways plays, the restaurants, and the fashion sense: You name it, Manhattan's got it. But perhaps the true magic of the city that never sleeps lies within the silence. The silence drowned out by the subway performers who play the classics you know and love, the constant honking of taxi cabs trying to weave their way through traffic, and the chatter of tourists as they look up at landmarks they've only ever seen in postcards. The silence shared between two groups of pedestrians as they wait for the light to change. The intimacy suspended in the air between dozens of strangers as their busy days are halted for a second, or maybe thirty. For a single moment, two clusters of souls are forced to be as one until they all walk off in opposite directions and go on to live the rest of their lives, never to think about the mundane moment they just shared with humans they probably won't ever see again.

 

So much of our lives have been spent in silence, yet none of us take the time to really appreciate it. The time we spend on the subway, packed in like sardines, exchanging body heat with nameless faces, all of us with a certain destination in mind. The time we spend on line at our local coffee shop, too preoccupied with figuring out what we want to order to even exchange a simple hello with the person waiting next to us. The time we spend standing in a pit at a concert venue, impatient and complaining for the main act to come on, too consumed with what we want right then to realize that everyone around us shares a passion of ours. So much is being said in these silences, yet no one ever seems to be listening.

 

We spend so much of our time waiting and wanting and existing in the in-betweens of life that we forget all about the lives in full motion around us. In the moments we spend trying to get from Point A to Point B, we are surrounded by countless of stories waiting to be told, journeys waiting to be embarked on, and destinies waiting to be fulfilled. In these simple, quiet moments, someone's heart is breaking. Someone is losing a friend. Someone is losing his job, while another is getting a promotion at his. All of this lingers in the silence between us, but none of us bother to listen.

 

Within each person is a beautiful abyss of secrets, experiences, hopes, and dreams. Within each person is a past, a present, and a future. And though we may only be a part of that single moment in the present of that one person... Isn't that magic enough? To be able to celebrate the mere existence of life in the deafening silence we all dread and desperately try to fill with pointless, meaningless noise? 

 

It's sad to think that the only time we ever really appreciate the beauty of this silence is when it's all there is left to be heard, and we find ourselves wishing we had started listening sooner.