I'll have so much to tell you about someday.
November 16, 2015
(Dan. Beacon, NY)
I went for coffee but couldn't find a seat. My eyelashes stuck together from old mascara and from the cold. I stood in the bathroom, waiting for a table to open, and shifted from foot to foot, holding the tips of my fingers underneath warm water. In church, I wept with my eyes wide open and my head in my hands; watching my tears hit the wooden floor of the back pew. From the alter, a young girl pleaded: "God, why do you allow such things to happen?"
On Thursday, Dan and I met on Ridgewood Avenue at 11:45. I got a too-big tattoo to match his: laughing at our impulsive need to document ourselves to our ourselves.
The week was pure shit. But walking home in my Michigan hat, head bent low against the wind, there was nothing left to do but laugh, count the change in my pocket, and climb the stairs to bed.