Photographed this about three years ago. I miss New York and all its lights; I’ve been itching to visit for the past year or so. In my general consumption of rom-com movies–always based in NYC (of course) and around Christmas (yes), Christmas lights, in particular, have become somewhat of a myth.
So I’m going back soon–for the sixth time!–this time to see the Christmas lights!
“I like you; your eyes are full of language.”
[Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]”
“you know what i thought of the other day?
our childhoods are for our parents
they remember our first steps
they remember what we liked and what we didn’t like
they remember what we ate, what we didn’t eat
they’re their memories to have,
as you grow older
your life becomes yours
but when we were younger
it was once theirs.”
– april 23rd, 2015 | 4:08 pm
Something my best friend said to me a few years ago.
Psychedelic Poise, a watercolor portrait time-lapse
Lately I’ve been having these little moments where I’m just suddenly really happy for the relationships in my life. For the friends, family, best friends, s/o (Oh, s/o sounds so formal. Boyfriend.) Like today, when we were curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, feeling ambivalent for Eleven in Stranger Things, (leave! Hawkins needs you) munching on take-out Indian.
Sometimes over half-eaten shrimp you’ll take about God. Or over savory soup dumplings you’ll talk about your family. Or, late at night, you’ll toss and turn over strange ballooning hypotheticals that seem, in the mental fatigue and subconscious lair, daunting, terrifying, unbearable. Amid the this’s and that’s, I believe in the buffer hypothesis, that the people in our lives keep us sane and happy and from going sad-stressed-loony. I feel warm, content, okay.
we drive home
bound with the windows
down carrying bags of tea that smell like
Christmas, flecked with
ginger, decked in lights
pass by billboards for
fidget spinners &
a bridge that reminds me of beyond two
souls & a school with the sign that reads “meet the Teachers night”
lo que sera, sera means what will be
will be, fate that’s putty in the
hands of what we can’t see