tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53615636004092688632024-02-20T04:29:43.035-08:00Visible InkAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-21770858210726231822015-01-04T16:56:00.000-08:002015-01-04T16:56:17.903-08:00IntensityAs she listened to him demand to know her favorite song for the third time, she started to wonder if her inability to determine for certain one song she loved more than all others was a problem.<br />
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There have been a lot of things in life she's been uncertain about or indifferent to, but there were definitely a handful of things she's never been more certain of in her entire life.<br />
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Can it just be enough to feel passionately about the things most important and immediate to her?<br />
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Either way, she leaves the conversation definitely sure he's not a match for her.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-57244039524865346912014-12-02T19:39:00.001-08:002014-12-02T19:39:10.967-08:00Love I hate you. <div>
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But I mostly hate that the fact that I don't hate you at all will make me wonder for the rest of my life.<br /><br /></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-48395524108427905332014-08-26T19:57:00.000-07:002014-08-26T19:59:30.227-07:00He made another appearance in her dream last night and she realizes there still hasn't been a day since they met that she hasn't thought about him.
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She's tried to tell herself she doesn't care, but from the moment she first saw him standing in that East Village bar, it's been a lie.
<br>
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To be honest, she's been overly invested ever since waiting those 16 days for him to contact her after asking for her number. She only wishes that realization would have come sooner.
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Every moment with him is still so clear. She's wondering when and if that will ever fade.
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<i>"All along I thought something would go wrong. Didn't you? Walls were up. We never pushed our luck, like we wanted to." - Cross that Line, Joshua Radin</i>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-23458668527103891872014-08-10T20:05:00.000-07:002014-08-26T20:06:01.836-07:00HomeShe knows these places so well and those there welcome her with open arms. All these places and people helped make her who she is.
<br>
<br>
As she drives down the highway she knows every curve in these roads. Each exit brings back a flood of memories. So vivid and comforting, yet, she also feels like she's seeing everything for the first time.
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She knows she's changed and the places have too. It makes her feel both at home and out of place simultaneously and it's a weird feeling for something so familiar to also feel so foreign.
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But the one thing she always leaves with is a sense of clarity. A better sense of who she is, how far she's come and what's really important. Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-45968986802777713272014-02-27T20:35:00.000-08:002014-02-27T20:35:23.358-08:00The minutes are ticking down and she speeds up.
Faster. Harder.
She's not sure why. Her intensity does nothing to pass the time more quickly. She could go twice as fast and only end up feeling more tired. In fact, she could slow down completely and would still have to endure for just as long.
It's in this moment that she realizes the same could be said about life. But faster in life tends to be more exciting than the treadmill so she carries on for practice. Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-5021633776498408882013-02-18T12:42:00.000-08:002013-02-18T12:42:14.447-08:00QuiescentSometimes she thinks these moments of silence are the ones where the words are most appropriate. Faced with a head full of words, the result is overwhelming silence. She chooses to say nothing and can only hope that's saying something. Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-88922350463162543402013-01-01T16:23:00.000-08:002013-01-01T16:23:53.266-08:00ObstructedShe needs the release she gets from the spilling of words out onto a blank canvas.
Her mind is so full she can barely concentrate on anything, yet the words refuse to cooperate.
It's almost as if the words are a cruel playground bully taunting her from afar. She wishes instead they would just invite her to play.
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-74407580818174566582012-05-07T18:05:00.000-07:002012-05-07T18:05:19.466-07:00She's moved twelve times.
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Two countries. Three states. Twelve different addresses. Eighteen different roommates.
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Lately she finds herself walking down the streets gazing wistfully into the windows at places like Crate and Barrel and West Elm.
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While most of her friends are starting to worry that they will never have kids, she's starting to worry that she may never own a couch.
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<i>"Like the day between morning and evening, my life falls between my urge to travel and my homesickness. Maybe someday I will have come far enough for travel and distances to becomes part of my soul, so that I will have their images within me, without having to make them literally real anymore." -Wandering, Hermann Hesse </i>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-19282320766593127522012-03-16T20:12:00.005-07:002012-04-12T18:05:30.079-07:00DegreesLove and hate. Comeplete opposites, yet lately they seem to go hand and hand in her world. Because, you see, it's not the sentiment that makes them equal, it's their intensity.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-13410805284876135872012-02-29T21:12:00.003-08:002012-02-29T21:32:50.617-08:00PursuanceShe's made some crazy decisions in her life. But she's made them all with the motivation of living with no regrets. The only unanswered questions are the ones she's not responsible for answering.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-4708537765423724412012-02-18T06:17:00.004-08:002012-02-29T21:27:09.651-08:00Previous IncarnationsShe listens to him recount his recent visit to the British Museum and her heart aches. <br /><br />She remembers when the British Museum used to be hers. Back when she had the luxury of visiting as often as she wanted. For periods as long or as short as she wanted. When she had no need to worry about seeing it all at once, as she knew she would be back again next week. <br /><br />As she snaps out of her daydream and returns to the conversation at hand, her heart aches again as she realizes that she will one day feel the same about Manhattan.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-68333801874840913352012-01-01T18:52:00.001-08:002012-01-19T20:06:06.238-08:00Love and DissonanceSometimes she wonders how it's possible to love them both so much, to want both of them and yet neither of them at the same time. <br /><br />She's always jealous when she hears how happy they are together. She remembers the sun-soaked summer days and laughter so vividly. Thinking about it makes her nostalgic for the intensity that has eluded her ever since. <br /><br />But she can't deny the feelings she gets from the second. The buzz, the energy, the constant anticipation. It's still new to her - even after all this time. <br /><br />She loves them equally, but for different reasons, yet is frustrated that maybe neither is right for her.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-73576286424253414062011-12-18T16:56:00.000-08:002011-12-18T17:00:10.950-08:00InsurmountableShe likes to see possibility in everything. That's why she's so frustrated to know that, in this case, she can never, ever be enough.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-55657330944987005232011-11-17T19:59:00.000-08:002011-11-17T20:10:24.062-08:00RemindedShe walks down the sidewalk trying to avoid anyone's gaze. She doesn't want to engage in conversation with the crazies tonight. <br /><br />"Hey beautiful," he says as he passes. <br /><br />She doesn't respond as she walks away knowing he's probably one of the crazies also, but they are nice words to hear once in awhile.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-8621815063579236472011-11-03T18:57:00.000-07:002011-11-04T18:19:18.150-07:00One of Those NightsThe kind where she ended up in a place she had totally forgotten even existed because it was someplace she never pictured herself. Which is ironic because that's kind of how she feels about living in Manhattan in general.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-91425178956893285612011-10-25T18:51:00.000-07:002011-10-25T19:04:38.995-07:00Constant ContrastSomeone moves in and, somewhere in the city, another moves out. <br /><br />One is taking a chance on a dream while another realizes their dream is now leading them elsewhere. <br /><br />A commonplace mix of introductions and going away parties. <br /><br />You can't ever get too comfortable in the city as life is never the same from one year to another. <br /><br />And it's not that you don't know that when you choose to live in a city, but it's that you choose to ignore it until the day comes to say goodbye to yet another friend.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-90358851508093807492011-10-12T04:10:00.000-07:002011-10-12T04:19:24.242-07:00City Full of StoriesAs the bus passed the corner of 38th and 3rd she saw him sitting on "his" ledge. Although the morning wasn't as cold as the preceding ones, he was bundled up in a winter coat. A passing woman dropped a few coins into his plain paper cup that he probably got from one of the corner coffee cart vendors. They exchanged a few words before the woman went on her way.<br /><br />Someone rang the bell for the stop and, as the bus pulled over, she felt an urge to hop off herself and talk to this man. <br /><br />She's seen him sitting on this corner every morning for the past three years and some mornings he appears happier than she does - greeting everyone with a smile even if they don't offer him any spare change. <br /><br />She can't help but wonder about his story and how his life led him to that corner.<br /><br />The bus pulled away and she continued on her way to work knowing she would once again wonder the same thing the next morning.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-60079681149149805052011-10-05T15:43:00.000-07:002011-10-05T17:27:36.015-07:00ApparitionsTonight this city exists only for her. Darkness has begun to wrap its arms around the night and as she walks the few blocks from the train each passing face is one from the past. <br /><br />Faces from home, from high school, undergrad and grad school. She feels as if she is sleepwalking. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Why these faces and why this particular evening? </span><br /><br />It's like she's in the middle of a dream, but she feels more awake than she has all day. It's an odd feeling and she decides she may need to cut back on the afternoon coffee.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-89802861045811301492011-10-04T20:03:00.000-07:002011-10-04T20:05:49.431-07:00Storytime is About to BeginShe can’t say when it began this love affair with words. It just always was. Wherever there was paper, words followed. Sometimes stories that lived in her head and others stories that lived in her heart. Sometimes expressing things on paper was the only way she could make sense of herself.<br /><br />As the creative writing slowly took a back seat to journalistic writing, she realized the stories in her head and heart feel more important than the stories she gets paid to tell.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5361563600409268863.post-16008337902945798762011-10-04T20:02:00.001-07:002011-10-04T20:02:50.493-07:00Visible Ink<span style="font-style:italic;">The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov</span>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03656252543252505887noreply@blogger.com0