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.

Down in Downtown SoHo

Grand Central Terminal, 10:51 PM

A budding potential 

His green eyes resembled

As we exchanged apprehensive glances across the room.

A handsome young stranger

Smile speckled with just the right danger

Could he cure my never ending gloom?

Who is he?

Could he love me?

All questions asked much too soon.

Two lost souls

Daring to be bold

Silently juggle the odds of doom.

There was something in our silence

Be it reckless, or maybe violent

With power that beamed like the moon.

Because as our eyes locked

I admit my heart stopped

In that over-crowded and dimly lit room.

One Last Goodbye

A fleeting wave

To end the day

We can't escape

The mess we've made.

I want to try

Ask myself why

It's all a lie

We cannot hide.

I miss you now

But don't know how

A broken vow

Take one last bow.

Better to leave

Torn at the seams

A movie scene

Not made for keeps.

There's no more sorrow

Tears will not follow

A friendship borrowed

Until tomorrow.

It's time that we

Accept defeat

One day we'll meet

Again repeat.