“you’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead”
tim o’brien
it’s three-thirty in the morning, that’s a bad time to talk about should-haves and would-haves - needful things
new york, new york
grand central smelt of pennies, ticket stubs, and desperation at 5:15 am.
"where're you headed?" the worker asked.
where was he headed? he didn’t realize leaving meant going away. but to go far enough to be folded into memory or far enough to be followed? would his wife search for him?
"connecticut.”
no comment; the worker printed a slip and took his money mechanically.
he needed a congratulations, deserved one for his decision. but who would congratulate a man abandoning his wife?
no socks
are allowed in the red-room
no pretty pink flowers
are allowed
at the woods at night
ohh she’s pretty with the sunset in her hair
turtle neck sweaters and steaming mugs of coffee and overcast clouds and leaves of red and yellow and orange and glossy doc martens and red lipstick stains on necks and pinkie promises and crunching strolls on new york city sidewalks
“one should always be drunk. that’s all that matters…but with what? with wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. but get drunk.”
“i feel so sad. i feel so abandoned. i feel very alone”“we’re all alone, reva.”
-my year of rest & relaxation
“we must not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us in the forest,”
one of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don't come home at night - margaret mead
it was nearly 4 am as red light streamed out the bar, sifting through drunk legs. it was closing time, even in new york city.
“let me take you home,” he asked; breath smelling more metallic than his eyebrow piercing.
she smiled into his swirling eyes,
and she was never seen again.
- myra
xxii | she/her | psychology & creative writing | desperately searching for meaning in the mundane
33 posts