Saturday, February 28, 2009

in your eyes

Smells are fading and seasons are sort of changing and it's becoming harder to remember what was as real and not just as some kind of dream I can't even piece together in the morning.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Where you are

It's past midnight where you are
I know this even though I don't really know
where you are
aside from the fact that you are there
and not here.

There being five hours ahead,
an ocean away,
out of reach,
and much too far.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

give me a c(l)ue

Today I walked around (and around and around and around some more) the west end with my jacket unbuttoned and my scarf tossed carelessly into my bag. I held a smoothie in one hand and a cheddar scone in the other. My spring playlist from last year was blasting and I couldn't help but smile at every dog and baby and even every full grown adult that passed me on the sidewalk. Despite the puddles of winter that I had to wade through, it suddenly and finally felt like spring and I was suddenly and finally so happy to be standing amongst these puddles. It was the sort of day I wouldn't have been able to appreciate last year as I listened to the same playlist and waded through puddles two hours west because I wouldn't have been able to look up and see the CN Tower peaking out amonst rooftops and treetops and I wouldn't have heard the clang of the streetcar approaching long before I saw it. And so when "I'll Believe in Anything" came on, even though it has for the past three springs, it never sounded better.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

me and you and a mouse at your house

I haven't updated in almost a week and that's because it's much easier to write about the bad than the good. Sadness is an emotion I can easily wallow in for days after days (or post after post), whereas happiness is one I remain hesitant to embrace in fear that something (everything!) will go wrong. This may be a rather negative outlook to adopt, but sometimes constant grey skies seem better than getting used to a week of sunshine, only to be met with an overcast forecast for the following month.

But last Saturday brought with it clouds and snow that I foolishly thought was gone for good, yet everything still seemed beautiful like sunshine to me.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


To expand on my last post, I'd love to go on a long journey down a 400-series highway. Partly because of the way everything seems greener and smells nicer an hour outside the city. But also because the act of leaving always carries with it the promise of return. And isn't this anticipation of homecoming one of the greatest feelings to hold on to? I may have complained about London and all its resulting homesickness before, but this homesickness always ended with a train ride from London to Brampton, and that moment just past Georgetown when I'd put away the boring novel and take the headphones out of my ears because I knew I was almost home. I'd be the first person to get up from her seat; the one who stands by the doors and the one everyone inevitably follows. I wouldn't even need help with my suitcase as I jumped off the train. My mom and dad would be waiting on the platform, and my mom would be waving. My dad would pat me on the back as he took my suitcase from me and headed towards the car. My mom would hug me and call me Dear (or maybe Sweetie) as we trailed behind my Dad. There would be chewy fruit snacks and a bag of ketchup rice cakes waiting for me in the backseat and my mom would say "we're so glad to have you home."

Monday, February 16, 2009

strange victory, strange defeat

It's beginning to look a lot like spring outside my window.

Also, I would give anything to go on a long drive down a 400-series highway right about now. The branches may still be bare, but driving into blue skies seems just about perfect after a weekend spent writing inside. London, maybe I'll be seeing you sooner than you think.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

and if you wanna come down

Toronto was in love yesterday. A boy held a single yellow rose on an afternoon subway ride. His fingers clenched and unclenched the stem as his eyes darted around around around. I wondered who was on the receiving end of this single yellow rose and if they would kiss or simply hug hello. A couple sat close together on an evening subway ride. She rested her head on his shoulder and a bouquet of flowers in her lap. He kissed her forehead before laying his head on top of hers. Another couple sat close together on a nighttime subway ride. She couldn't stop smiling as she told a story I couldn't quite hear and he couldn't look away from her or stop smiling either.

I walked home alone and spent my night with a slice of apple pie and a cup of tea.

But during that afternoon subway ride and that evening subway ride and even that nighttime subway ride, I missed. I couldn't help it as much as I didn't, and still don't, want to. My fingers clenched and unclenched air as my head felt heavy and needed somewhere to rest.

Friday, February 13, 2009

in a breeze that you once blew

Aside from his really unhealthy eating habits, sometimes I'd like to trade lives with Digby for a day. It would be nice to bask in the sun and roll around in the sun and stretch out in the sun and fall asleep in the sun and have a person cuddle me and then sleep in the sun some more and then play in the sun and contemplate in the sun and have a bath in the sun and get cuddled some more over and over and over and over.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

can you come out tonight?

Loosening grips and letting go. It really is such a scary thing.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

sleeping is the only love

One night before sleep during the fourth year Justin and I were dating, I found a post-it note stuck to the wall against my side of the bed. It simply read "I love you!" I took it with me in the morning and used it as a bookmark for the next month or so. A small gesture, yes, but a gesture so sweet and perfect in its simplicity that I can still recall the image of black Sharpie against pale yellow four years later when most of my other memories from that time have slipped away.

In the end, when a relationship runs its course, what do we remember and what do we forget? What becomes Stories Worth Telling and what gets pushed away and hidden until finally forgotten? There's not many more specifics I can share about my five years (!) spent with Justin. I remember the way it felt when my bare feet sunk into Vancouver sand and I looked over and saw a flash of excitement cross his face and I remember thinking the west coast had never seemed more perfect until that moment.

The small details are the easiest to let fall away, yet they are the ones I'm left searching for in old journals and photos and letters. Instead, the untangling that follows the end remains the clearest in my mind.
I remember the last real time I saw Justin and I remember wondering if that would be the last time I'd see him and I remember not being able to answer that question so I looked the other way instead.

The happiness is a blur, but the loss remains clear. And this is scary. This is scary because shouldn't it be the other way around and you always think it will be the other way around but it never is. What's even scarier is the fact that you know this all but you still risk it time and time again. Because you love the idea of love and you love love and you love being in love and you love those perfect moments that you manage to remember even four years later.

Monday, February 9, 2009

monday monday

This is what the sky looks like as I lie on my bed and sing "I felt a rush like a rollin' ball of thunder, spinnin' my head around and takin' my body under, what a night" and understand those words and that feeling even though it's well past December 1963 because the sun refuses to hide and my winter jacket will be left at home on Wednesday and a message came when I was beginning to feel my most vulnerable.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

it's true

I'm glad other people in this city share my love for the 416.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

what we all long for

The snow in this city is melting into big puddles that fill sidewalks and streets. I know the weather's just being a tease, but I couldn't help but walk with a bounce in my step today as I roamed these melting sidewalks and streets. The sun was so bright and felt so warm that I had to whip out my camera and try to capture the feeling. And I know these photos probably fail to do today justice, but just know I couldn't stop smiling and that New Order never sounded so good coming through my headphones.