this evening, i met a man on his first date with his legs nervous,
his face blushing redder than my lipstick waiting for his girl in the hotel foyer.
my loveless lungs and stained fingers and
i kept on wondering how lonely this city makes me, hours after.
i rue my oncoming weeks as if all is a train with no brakes.
me and my chai lattes against the mountainous land of long, long clouds and its looming gloom.
unspeakable loneliness of a city that loves its sleep as it touches you too.
arrowtown
in the queenstown alps, i stood in front of this lovely bakery with my warm thoughts
that
twenty-two years is a long time, many of it i spent wanting to pack up and run.
a little of it, i spent as the person i truly wanted to be.
withholding love is something i've never been proud of to do and
twenty-two years is long enough to get me to unlearn that.
that would be the only thing enlightening me six feet under later.
twenty-two long, bumpy years.
it was in rainy dunedin when i recalcitrantly decided that i do not wish to wish for more.
the places i want to love, i have loved well. now i'm too old and washed out to even want more.
gets me afraid that after writing so much about july, i might forever live in insipid afterthoughts
of august and nameless months.
what is inside me is a medley of reveries and bad attempts of grounding my feet to the ground but
living is no living if it's just tagging along on the train ride.
i'd love to meet you again in another city, with another face and
another name that's sweeter to taste when you say it.
in the winter swiss alps where the taller, prouder mountains stand would be lovely even if
i'll hate the weather (i'm halfway sure you'd hate it too).
