Canadian Love Song

canadian love sung

2011-02-22T08:37:00.006-05:00

This blog initially blossomed out of response to a breakup. It then gained even more speed during the surprising beginning and end of the relationship that followed soon after. Both those Hes I once blogged so very much about have moved on to become distant memories. The first has finally moved so that the corner I once thought of as home is now just seedy and grey. I don't know where he lives and I don't even know if we'd stop to say Hi if I were to stumble upon him someday. The second He was so fleeting and so long ago that the memories I had of him and of us become more than the actual relationship ever was. And all the Hes that followed these two never really mattered much in the end.

But after all the years of writing of searching for love, I have found it and unexpectedly at that. This love is not new. In fact, He's been around for over a year now. Yet whenever I sat down to write about him here, I just couldn't. My words sounded too real and normal and uncomplicated. There was nothing to lament or yearn for or romanticize because what we have is real and strong and what I had been searching for in all those posts but just hadn't realized I wanted.

And so instead I wanted to tell you about things we'd done, or food I'd made, or places I'd seen, but the words and the stories didn't seem to fit here in a blog so unintentionally devoted to lost love and all sorts of other pasts. And so, with all this in mind, I've decided to bid adieu to Canadian Love Song. New stories are beginning (did I mention that we are moving in together?) and I need somewhere to spill them all.

Please join me over at Plaid Habits. My new blog is going to be much more about the here and now and lifestyle focused. I want to tell you stories in words that are less cryptic, but just as pretty, this time around. Oh, and I want to share lots of photos, too. I'd love to hear from you over at my new address to make sure you made the trip over okay.

So goodbye Canadian Love Song. Thanks for being such a good friend.

Afterwards

2011-01-12T12:44:00.001-05:00

Leslie drove by Ossington the other night and said my once room is still mint green all over. For some reason, this made me happy to hear. Whoever lives there now just probably couldn’t be bothered to paint, but even if this is so, I like to imagine that this person is a she and that this girl chose not to, and instead is growing her own big dreams and creating her own stories to tell and feeling the real hope I once felt between those very same mint green walls.

still

2010-12-20T12:10:00.001-05:00

Sarah came over last week and we drank too much wine and sang along with songs we looped on repeat back when we were young. Somehow I still remembered most of the words that I used to scrawl across the pages of my notebooks when I still believed in forever. Sarah said I used to listen to these songs in residence and gesture love over a webcam to that boy twenty minutes away. She told me this and at first I didn’t believe her but then I did but I still couldn’t remember that girl but then I could and I could even still remember all the words.

i want to go everywhere

2010-12-02T23:25:00.003-05:00

*This was written in a tiny notebook on a train from LA to San Diego the other day but I'm only now finding the time to enter it here.

It's been forever because there is too much to say and feel but never the right words to say and feel them in. Or maybe I'll just never have the right words for the present. Maybe I'm only ever capable of writing beautiful about the past. Maybe the past is always beautiful because it's not the present. And so maybe I can write now because I'm on a train and the sound of metal against metal reminds me of a past I can see as beautiful because it became the past will over two (!) years ago. I remember riding a different train back and forth between my temporary and soon-to-be homes constantly that year that has now become long ago. It's too dark to see anything outside this window and it was always too late back then, too. And I was a different person then as well. But this feeling of journey, of travel, of departures and arrivals is suddenly so familiar I find myself listening to that album I listened to on repeat for all those trips of return and goodbye. And this feeling is all so strangely familiar I can remember how it felt to first glimpse the purple and white lights of the city in the distance, to put away my book and button up my coat, to will the train to race into the station, to know how Jim Guthrie felt as he sang "I want to go everywhere with you" and bounce through the cold of the station unphased. And it's probably the free wine swimming around inside, but I can't help but listen to Jim on repeat again and shed a tear or two.

this season around

2010-09-27T11:46:00.002-04:00

It’s been too long, but not because nothing has happened. No. This summer was the brightest and the bluest and how do you write always sunshine and the longest days turning into longer nights and the hazy happy blur they all became? This summer was also one of Toronto’s hottest on records so I floated through it, above and beyond the heat. But that heat was strong and in that heat I slipped away. Last week I saw myself from a distance and I felt distant from that girl I saw. Somehow in that heat I’d forgotten myself. But yesterday, a text from an old friend suddenly so far away came. He said fall had been feeling heavy but my words made it feel lighter. And then I walked home alone in the cold and the crisp and the dark and everything seemed to right itself. Fall signals the onset of winter and all sorts of endings, but yesterday, during that walk home, everything felt like the beginning and possible. I remembered the me that came before the heat and I realized how much I’d missed her. I want longer days and the longest nights, and I refuse to float above them this season around. Pass me a hat and scarf and I will be that girl I used to be.

interstates

2010-08-13T10:33:00.002-04:00

My recent business travels through New York State this summer remind me of the road trips my dad became consumed with taking throughout my preteen years. He navigated those American freeways as if he’d been doing so forever. From the I-90 to the I-79 to the I-279, he was invincible. Traveling in my mom’s more sensible grey Toyota Corolla, he was still a warrior as he passed baby blue Buicks and singing minivans. In that instant it didn’t matter that his health was still too unsteady for him to work full time, even though it had been years since his first operation. I no longer cared about flying to exotic destinations like my friends did; we too were flying through those anonymous cities, blurred green landscapes, Dunkin Donuts standing glorious as they marked the miles we’d traveled.

hey now i'm movin'

2010-08-04T19:10:00.003-04:00

For the past two years, I've fallen asleep to the quiet hum of the 24-hour bus that drives up and down the street outside my bedroom window and woken to Tender Green walls and spent afternoons with the warmest midday sun. These same Tender Green walls have come to hold my memories and helped me make memories and even held me when there were no memories I could even think of making. The walls in this room slope and make hanging photos and art hard. The ceiling is ugly popcorn and the floors may be hardwood but they are creaking and breaking, slowly but surely. There are dead bugs trapped in the light fixture and I'm partly too lazy but mostly too scared to clean them away. I've spent night after night sitting on that broken floor, staring into a mirror, wondering if it was a red lips sort of night, wondering who I'd meet, or if I already knew the answers to all these questions, wondering if he'd call or I'd text and wondering if I'd regret it all in the morning. This room is on the third floor of a house built at the turn of the century, and so the winters are always too cold and the summer's much too warm. But this room held my hand tight through a degree I never thought I'd finish and it held my hand even tighter when old hopes slipped away and new ones formed in their place and this room may not be perfect and even though it is time to leave it behind, I know I will forever search for the way this room erupting in late afternoon sunshine made me feel when this city was still new and everything still waited ahead.

young hearts

2010-06-25T10:11:00.002-04:00

Young love, you were so many summers ago. Tanned and fresh faced and twenty-one, I waited at streetcorners with the hope of you floating all around. Beautiful you were as you crossed the street to greet me with a kiss and beautiful I felt, too, from the way you kissed me. Young love, you were light as a feather as you shared shared shared and listened to it all. And light as a feather was I when you lifted me into the night and said you loved me and meant it in a way you only can when you're eighteen. And my eyes were only ever wide open and bright that summer and they hardly are anymore and so sometimes I close them to still see you standing there, a bouquet of sunflowers in your hand.

today

2010-05-27T14:14:00.002-04:00

Sometimes, like today, I really think it would be possible for me to flee this city and all its people. On most days, the idea of elsewhere always seems alluring and exciting and a little bit dangerous but never real. On most days, I have no need for elsewhere because here is where I only ever want to be. But today is not most days. And today as I sat on the streetcar coming to work, all I could think about was what would happen if I didn't get off at the same stop I get off at five days a week and instead stayed seated, riding the streetcar in giant circles around the city, never having to speak to anyone once. And then I started thinking about jumping in a car, or even a plane if I could dream big enough, and going so far away everything would be new and nobody would be familiar. I didn't know where this elsewhere would be. All I knew was that it would be better than today.

when the night meets the morning sun

2010-05-11T23:53:00.002-04:00

Rainiest of Mays and I'm walking home in the rain, again, and the wind is so strong it pushes my umbrella inside out and my bags are so heavy I have to stop four times to shift their weight and rest my hands, all the while juggling an umbrella that won't right itself, and I walked these same streets drunk and in the fog just days ago, and everything seemed different back then because right now I'm crying and I don't know why and all I want is for the sun to come back and for it to feel like real May again and all I want is to hear real words and to be hugged at the end of it all.

you still smell like last winter

2010-05-11T09:34:00.001-04:00

It’s last winter whenever I think of you because you were only ever last winter to me, and last winter will always be the hope of it all that followed the heartbreak of what came before. You were there in the snow and the cold and the hush to walk me home and hug me goodnight, and you were there in a tie on my birthday, and you were there, but always too far away to touch and always too nervous. And now it’s next spring and here you are again, but only for a night. And you still smell like last winter, but there is no hope of it all because you were the last heartbreak there was.

after the rain

2010-05-10T08:42:00.003-04:00

This city smells like spring these days and this city smells the most like spring in the early evenings that follow afternoon showers. Shocked but damp and clean, I watch this city shake itself awake as the yellow cuts into the grey, and I find myself trying to do the same.

wyebridge

2010-04-28T13:55:00.000-04:00

Driving north with him, driving backwards, windows down, blue breeze blowing, pressing play on my favourite song at my favourite part of the drive (the moment we pull off the highway and I realize we are suddenly the only car following this curving road back to his once home), swallowed up in green, the familiar dotting of houses, the one with rotating stuffed animals outside, pulling into a driveway still marked by a basketball net, stepping out of the van into air that is always cleaner and cooler 1.5 hours outside of the city, stepping into the house he grew up in and into his mom’s open arms.

Almost two years since I last took this drive, I still find myself replaying it on days like today where everything feels on the brink of springsummer because this drive and that one tiny town he once called home and what it felt like to be twenty-two and in love are forever springsummer in my mind.

the past in present

2010-04-22T23:37:00.004-04:00

The past is never the past because it's never gone. No. The past catches you off guard as you round the corner one day and bump into him and his new life hanging off his arm. And the past is there every morning and every afternoon as you ride past his house on the streetcar, sometimes daring to peer into a bedroom that still looks the way it did so long ago when you thought of it as your own, too.

But the past is more than just the physical recurrences of him stamped across this city. It's more than just the way your hands sweat at the mere sight of any and every lanky boy with brown hair dressed in a heather grey tee. It's not just because you still refuse, after all this time, to wait at the corner of College and Spadina in fear that you may round the corner and bump into him and his new life again. The past isn't even just tied to him. There are so many pasts of so many boys following you around that they all become one in the end.

And the past plagues and will never disappear because it can never actually go anywhere. At twenty-four, it's much too late. The past is the present and it becomes easiest to remember everything bad and forget all that was good. And because of those long talks that never fixed a thing and all that was wrong and whatever you felt too much or too little of, you promise yourself you'll never let the past become the future again. And all the while you're trying to figure out if this is possible or not, you sit with walls up and everything securely tucked away.

old blue eyes

2010-04-11T23:08:00.003-04:00

Some dates and some days are impossible to forget. Like last week when I woke up and looked at my calendar and then looked outside and thought to myself how I hoped you were having the best birthday because how could you not with the sun as high as it was? Twenty-six and a face I sometimes don't remember right anymore, I will always remember you eighteen and nineteen and twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two, and how I hugged you the tightest I could on every third of April for all those years. So happy birthday, old friend. Here's to you.

#63

2010-04-11T22:35:00.002-04:00

Today I pulled back the curtains in my room and opened the window to the sound of a passing bus. It's been months since I've heard that sound or felt that breeze or seen the way the sun looks shining through the white of my curtains, but it all felt so familiar that it felt like home.

i'll believe in anything

2010-04-08T19:50:00.004-04:00

This city is blooming and beautiful and mine again. All mine. Last night I saw the band that made up the soundtrack to the first Toronto there ever was. I listened to them on repeat that first summer I found myself alone finding myself, back when I didn't know anything west of Bathurst or the difference between College and Dundas. I remember sitting in the first boy's apartment that wasn't his and saying "put on this song. It's a really great song." And there I was, sitting beside a boy who barely mattered but what mattered was where I was and how I didn't exactly know where I was but how I suddenly felt like I could believe in anything. A year later the band still mattered but this time with a boy that mattered and this city now slowly becoming home. A year after that the boy was more of a question mark but we still listened to the band together over a sink full of dishes in a Toronto now familiar in a comfortable sort of way.

But last night they sang this song that once made me feel like anything and everything was possible in this great city of mine and for the first time in a long time I believed it.

if you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were

2010-03-31T23:45:00.002-04:00

A year ago winter became spring and the hope of him slipped away and I walked outside that first morning after and everything looked different and strange the way it does when your heart is broken. The blue was beautiful but it didn't touch me and I floated through the day but not in a good way and I drank too much but the room never spun once.

A year later he tells me about this song as we sit apart as friends and he says he walked to the mall in the rain in first year university to buy the album and listened to it for the first time in his res room full of people and even though I didn't know him then I feel like I did because the words spill so easy and there is everything I want to share and everything I want to hear and here we are, sitting apart as friends.

And it is spring again but this time we greet each other on streetcorners under the brightest sun and we pause to hug hello and he listens to everything I want to share and the blue is so beautiful and this song is my new favourite and we are friends this time around.

your heart felt good

2010-03-27T17:27:00.002-04:00

Sometimes traveling feels more like arriving than visiting. Last weekend, each turn of a corner and exit out of the subway felt like arriving again and again to the place I'm meant to be. On Sunday afternoon, perfect ice cream cone in hand, I looked around Park Slope as the sun was at its highest and thought how I could stay there forever and never want to arrive elsewhere again.

And that may very well be true, but today Toronto was perfectly blue and buzzing and ready to come out of hibernation and I felt like I was arriving all over again and at that moment I knew I could never actually go elsewhere because there was nowhere else I'd want to be.

break it down

2010-03-20T09:23:00.001-04:00

The sun didn't hide once this week and every song I heard was my new favourite and in mere hours I'll be reunited with my most favourite city and fall in love with it over and over again and every day I felt so happy I could burst.

meet me in the city

2010-03-15T20:50:00.003-04:00

The city was mine in song this weekend. First there was Joanna Newsom and songs so beautiful they made me feel affected like I was twenty again and hearing her for the first time and they were so perfect I had to stand still with my eyes closed and my breath held tight as two tears fell. Then there was Woods last night and the bar may have been dark and crowded and too tall and too drunk but then they played this song and everything got quiet and the tears didn't fall but they almost did and it felt like last summer but better and I could only think about how happy I was at that moment.

It's been forever since two nights of music were more than enough and so this weekend made me think of these guys and the days and nights when their music was always enough. I remember being fourteen and listening to their songs for the first time and thinking how I'd never been in love but they made me want to and then I remember falling in love with him and thinking how I finally felt the way these songs had always made me feel.

And today was grey until late afternoon when the sun forced its way through for my walk home and my walk home again and the night was dark and quiet but it was the first night that felt like spring and the hope of summer and that feeling was strange and familiar all at once because it's been so long but I love my city the most at the beginning of spring when everything's still possible and so this night and all those songs were like falling in love with that band and him for the first time all over again.

this city of ghosts

2010-03-09T21:36:00.002-05:00

This weekend I ran into the first He that ever mattered and we may have been a We for five years but I haven't seen him for nearly four and isn't it so strange how your once best friend and boyfriend and everything and the person you thought you'd always know, in some capacity or anther, becomes so strange he's suddenly a stranger? We've passed each other before but I've always been too scared or lost for words but this time the night felt like spring and the beer was already inside and I didn't have time to think. I ran over and said his name, first and last because there never was a middle, and the words sounded as happy as I was to say them. There was no strangeness, only familiarity all grown up. His eyes were still as blue as they were when I was fifteen and felt how it feels to lie beside a boy for the first time, and his voice sounded the way it always did coming through the cordless phone I clutched to my ear late at night in my parents' basement. But he was shorter than I remembered, and I realized halfway through the stories I was telling that he didn't know the people in them. Yet even so, I said "it was really good to see you" as we parted. And I really did mean it.

the first day

2010-03-04T15:49:00.001-05:00

This city is still waking and today may just be the most beautiful because the sun is shining and I walked outside for an hour without my ‘muffs and the sky seems the bluest its ever been. A friend said that days like today are just previews for the spring and summer waiting, and this may be true, but I’d still take today’s high of three over months and months of forever blue and temperatures in the twenties. Why? Because a day like today that follows months and months of winter feels like the first day. It catches you off guard and unprepared and it instills hope and happiness and excitement and so much anticipation.

of late

2010-03-01T19:09:00.002-05:00

in my bones

2010-03-01T18:01:00.001-05:00

This city is waking. The sun’s still out and the snow’s puddling into pools and I can feel the arrival of spring deep in my bones. This transition from grey to blue and green, to early nights to late mornings, always comes fast but it seems even more sudden this time around. Winter kills souls and leaves me out of it instead of in, but this winter was different from the rest.

This city was frozen to its core three years ago. It was submerged under snow the year following. And the city may have been beautiful and forever blue in my memories of it last year, but it was a city always anticipating and never actually delivering. This winter, the city was my one and only. It was not tied to the hope of anyone or anything. It was brighter than it’s ever been. And more beautiful, too. And it was more than enough to carry me through.

you smell like winter

2010-02-22T17:50:00.002-05:00

Everything always happens in winter and this time around it’s one winter later and I’m suddenly back where I was the winter before. He is a different he and we talk like old friends because that’s what we’ve become in a year. The words spill fast and easy because I’ve drank too much and my heart is pounding and the room is spinning. The room is always spinning. Sitting close enough to touch but never touching, he hands me books he knows I’ll love because they’re romantic and he knows I’m the most. I’d forgotten what his room smelt like until I stepped foot inside and I think to myself that this is what winter and memory smell like. Always slow to go, I stand across from him on the porch, smoking a cigarette I only took to prolong a goodbye. But this time he seems to be lingering, too, and when I shiver from the cold, he runs his hands along my arms to warm me but stops short. We hug and part as old friends because that’s all we are a winter later, and even though I know all this, the street still spins as I turn the corner home.

on streets

2010-02-19T12:12:00.000-05:00

Winters later and we pass on the street and it takes seconds of staring at your face to realize it’s your face and the look on your face says you feel the same. I raise my hand in recognition but do not smile and you do the same and we both keep walking and in seconds you are gone again. We used to dance in your kitchen across dishes and you’d hold me so tight from behind and splatter kisses on my neck to the sound of running water. And water splashed our faces on that ferry ride one summer when you looked at me in a way that made me look away from the way that look made my heart race. But now when we pass each other my heart slows by the time I cross the street and we never even stop to say “hi.”

tonight, tonight

2010-02-16T22:10:00.002-05:00

Some nights one beer feels like four and every song played is your favourite and all your best friends are there to sing with and dance with and hug and you can't stop smiling because the room is spinning and this city is yours again.

someone's sleeping

2010-02-16T08:35:00.003-05:00

Earliest Tuesday morning and I've found this record I forgot you once bought for me and how did I forget an album you insisted you buy because you knew I would love it and how did you know what I would love just because you loved me.

It's a Tuesday morning in February and so it's grey in a familiar sort of way that could make today any day and any day including a February two years ago when we listened to this song and this album together for the first time and you raised your hands in the air and reached out towards me, all the while singing along.

Music is our time capsule and so much time has passed I can listen to this album and forget all the sadness and all the fights that happened at the end and this album is still perfect two years later and without you and so I can now listen to this album and love it for what it is and remember what it felt like to love you.

love song

2010-02-14T13:32:00.002-05:00

It's Valentine's Day so of course I'm paintng my nails red and listening to songs like this one, and oh, this one too because it's me and I still cling hard to the idea of love and old time romance despite any recent fascination I may have developed for dirty boys. But with that being said, the more I listen to Devendra and Daniel sing these songs about love, the more I realize these love songs I always seem to come back to time and time again are less about being in love and more about the idea of, or the yearning for, or the loss of love itself. Devendra tells me to put him in my blue skies, put him in my grey as he sings a song to bring me home, and one night in the summer, I listened to Daniel reassure me that true love will find me in the end for an hour on repeat and I cried the entire time.

And so maybe my definition of a perfect love song isn't one about the actual act of being in love but rather about the yearning and the missing and the hope of it all because isn't love, perfect love, about having someone to miss in the end? Love should consume like these songs and make me cry for hours on an end on an evening in July. This is not to say that I'm bitter and jaded about love. Oh no, I'm quite the opposite (my nails are painted red today, after all). These tears can be happy tears, and this missing carries with it the promise of return and reunion that sends shivers up spines and turns your head and heart all sorts of dizzy.

that love drug thing

2010-02-12T02:50:00.002-05:00

As written earlier and forever before that, there is something about dirty boys that turns me obsessed and slightly crazed. I can't put down the drinks or the phone because that boy is out there and the drinks make me want to phone and the silent phone makes me want to drink and suddenly the room is spinning and my heart is racing because maybe he replied or maybe he didn't but maybe he still will and maybe he will even walk through the doors of this very bar at any second or maybe he won't and maybe my phone will remain silent and maybe I'll keep drinking when I get home and pass out alone in bed. But whatever ending I'm met with on any given night is not important because a beer is almost as good a substitute as drunk kisses and spoons that never mean anything in the morning. No. What matters is the maybe. The unpredictability of it all, the rush, the excitement, the almost euphoria or the disappointment. It's why I come back time and time again to boys that are only ever fun and always forever bad. It's a love drug thing. I'm hooked on the possibility of love and companionship and connection presented one night and then so easily forgotten the next.

I know I deserve more than one night and these boys, but things could always be worse. I may be a love junkie for dirty boys but dirty boys are dirty and this love is never real and so dirty boys can never break your heart because they were always dirty to begin with. I'll take the possibility of these nights with dirty boys over real boys and real feelings because I know I'll always walk away whole and intact with my walls still firmly in place.

24!

2010-02-07T23:11:00.003-05:00

Last night was as perfect as any birthday could be. A house full of my bests, "Age of Consent" always, birthday cake and crumble and cupcakes, and my crowd surfing dream realized in the form of 24 birthday bumps. The details may be blurred, but I do know that everything was hazy glowy happy and I don't think I stopped smiling once.

Since I turned fifteen, I realize I've only ever spent one other birthday single. And I may have been boyless last night, but I was in no way alone. No, not one bit. The rooms were warm with love and who needs texts when they always come a little too late and they always are just texts and nothing more.

a love like yours will surely come my way

2010-02-03T23:20:00.004-05:00

Everytime I go home, my parents seem older than they were the last time I left. The signs are small but telling. A missed turn. The way my dad holds the wheel a bit tighter than before. The names my mom now forgets. The story that never gets told quite right. And everytime I leave, the panic sets in and I wake with tears streaming down my face and the nightmare of life without them. They are fragile and fading and even though I know they are stronger than I think, time keeps passing and they are becoming more fragile and they are stil fading and their stories aren't being told and so why don't I ask them about these stories sometime? I worry that one day the stories I tell of my parents will only be just that. Mere stories of fragile and fading memories to people who never felt my mom's warmest warmth and my dad's big beautiful heart.

But how do you tell two people who don't see themselves as fragile or fading what you fear and how do you hug these two people you love more than anything in a way that says everything you feel?

summer, come back

2010-02-01T00:33:00.002-05:00

Also, as much as I am okay with right now, I feel an aching for sticky days and long nights and to fly through the air on a swing.

true love finds us with our backs to it

2010-01-31T21:53:00.006-05:00

Last weekend fell away and I missed a boy who isn't worthy of being missed and then I fell away, too, but when I fell, I fell backwards. I turn twenty-four in six days, and I am scared of this number and the changes it may bring with it so last weekend I rewound instead. My twenty-third was the best and full of change and I would not change a thing. But twenty-four sounds too big and real and grown-up, and so sometimes it's easier to put up walls and hibernate then face what waits a week ahead.

But this weekend I did not miss any boy at all. And it may have felt like -24 outside, but I refused to hide away. I went out with pink lips and big hopes and I was happy because I realized twenty-three was the best because it was the first year I'd done alone and isn't there something really amazing about such independence and self-knowledge? My happiness was mine and my sadness was only mine, too, and so if I fall away one weekend I can come back stronger than ever the next.

And stronger than ever was I when I realized that he really is the dirtiest of dirties and nights of spooning don't make up for months of lies. And stronger than ever was I when I realized that the boy from last winter will still never take off his coat for me and I never really liked him all that much to begin with. And the strongest was I when I realized it's taken me a year to get over the last boy that actually mattered and in that realization comes the hope of finally moving on and moving away from these dirty boys and these boys who'll never stay to talk.

I like to think my year was like this song. Slow but steady, beautiful but still sad, and there may have been something wrong with my heart for most of it, but twenty-three still managed to build and grow and that tambourine kicked in right at the end when it was needed the most.

sentimental warm weather

2010-01-22T00:16:00.005-05:00

This house was old and forever dirty but it was the first house I thought of as a home that didn't belong to my parents and it was my home because I did so much growing between its sage green walls and rambling three floors.

It had a large, forest green wrap around porch that I now wish I had spent more time on. Inside, it had a real working fireplace and two living rooms and flowers stained into the windows and arched doorways and the tallest windows and so much light. The kitchen was tiled green and white and there was a tiny sun room off the kitchen that stored the remnants of last night's parties and one time my roommate opened the door to find a homeless man riffling through these remnants on a Sunday morning. There were two full washrooms and six bedrooms and curved staircases and secret hideaways for the cats under these staircases. There were more windows upstairs, too. And there was a little nook in the wall that never got filled quite right. The backyard was long and wide and full of the biggest tree and the most unsafe firepit. My roommates once caught a couple out there under that tree and amongst the bushes. My bedroom had four closets and two windows that led onto a roof I used to welcome spring and summer. And there was the biggest tree outside those two windows, too, and the sun would shine through the branches of those trees to wake me every morning.

The house creaked and groaned and every shutting of a door was like a whisper. It was always full of people and spills and too much garbage. But it was also what I woke to on the first day of school and what I came home to after my last exam for two years. And it held my hand as I sat late into the night typing essay after essay or to boys two hours across the 401. It was a room in a house that we painted together and then broke up in twenty months later. It was the last place I ever spoke to him. It was a room and a house that saw me welcome new boys into my life back when I thought there could never be anyone else. It saw new sleepovers and heard new phonecalls and it was the house I went back to after first seeing him on the street in the rain and knowing I would never ever forget his face and knowing that I would oneday hold that face.

Today I can still look at this picture and hear the sounds of traffic passing by and remember how it felt to round the corner and be greeted by the grandness that was this house and those two years. When I think of this house, it is always the beginning of spring and the sun always stays out later than it ever actually does and there is a lightness in the air and there is anticipation and hope and because of all this, this house will forever be home even if it's just now a mere home in my memories.

walls

2010-01-21T01:40:00.001-05:00

What does it mean when even the dirtiest of boys doesn't reply?

hideaway

2010-01-19T00:57:00.002-05:00

Please tell me how to put down the phone when the drinks start flowing and the good times keep rolling and please tell me how to not want to share this feeling with a boy. Even if this boy is no no no no good.

dawn

2010-01-17T16:56:00.003-05:00

I can write and say all I don't want so many times I almost believe it true, but then there are moments when the darkness hasn't quite become light and my head is still spinning and this boy who doesn't matter but keeps re-appearing anyways is snoring beside me. And then this boy rolls over and wraps me up so tight in his arms that I am instantly tiny and my head is suddenly spinning in all sorts of different ways. And the next time I stir there is more light than darkness, and he is still here even though I know he shouldn't be, and even though I know this, he is still there so I roll over and run my hand along his back and splatter kisses across that back and squeeze him the tightest 'hello.'

Despite this burst of affection, he still doesn't matter anymore than he did the night before. No. The mornings were just always my favourite to wake to with the boys that mattered the most. And as much as I claim to not want to be anyone's half of a whole, that love I splattered across backs and gave in the biggest hugs can't just disappear, can it?

This boy does not matter and will never matter in any way that love is involved. No. Never. But even though I know this, I sometimes can't help but return to my old self in those mornings when the sky is half dark and half light and he is placing a kiss on my shoulder.

today

2010-01-15T00:43:00.002-05:00

Today, this city, my city, did not look or feel in the height of winter. No! There was nothing cold or grey or lonely about the way the sun bounced off my streetcar window and back onto the bluest sky January has ever seen. I hopped and beamed down the street and not because of any boy for once. There is no boy worth writing about that is not long past-tense, and I realized, today, in the midst of the most beautiful day, that for the first time in a very long time, I don't need a boy to lighten my step. My city and a tiny hint of spring were hope enough.

silver soul

2010-01-14T02:06:00.003-05:00

It's been so long that I can pass his house or that corner where he once said he first fell in love with me and feel as close to nothing as possible. And it's been so long that I forget what it ever was like to be one half of a whole or what it felt like to even want to be that half. And it's been so long that I don't even know what movies he'd want to see in the theatres or how to be the half of any whole for that matter. And it's been so long that I'll go places I shouldn't, only to be held in the quickest of moments because even though I may not be anyone's half, it's sometimes still nice to pretend for the night. And it's been so long that I can listen to this song and wonder how something so beautiful exists. But it hasn't been so long that I can listen to this song and sing "gather medicine for heartache so we can act a fool" and forget the truth and stories in those words and know that it'll be almostforever before I'll be anything but a jumble of quarters and thirds and nothing resembling a half, or whole.

looking for nancy

2010-01-10T11:17:00.001-05:00

What I was trying to say before and failed to is everything Mr. Nowlan manages to sum up so beautifully and so true in a mere seventeen lines.

Looking for Nancy,
everywhere, I've stopped
girls in trenchcoats
and blue dresses,
said
Nancy, I've looked
all over
hell for you,
Nancy, I've been afraid
that I'd die
before I found you.
But there's always
been some mistake:
a broken streetlight,
too much rum or merely
my wanting too much
for it to be her. (97)

you. always.

2010-01-09T03:08:00.003-05:00

I still walk these streets, my streets, and think about you. Always? No. But still too much. "Love you all the time, even though you're no't mine." Sometimes I think I see your face but then it's just a stranger's and so my heart stops pounding and I keep on going. Even after all this, I still look for you everytime. What would I say? What would you say? Love? Never. Like? Too much. "You couldn't lose me if you tried." I'll probably regret this in the morning.

other words

2010-01-08T01:16:00.002-05:00

Confession: I have not picked up one book since I finished my M.A. in September. I guess when school turns a love into work, it becomes sometimes too daunting to return to that lost love and try to remember what you once loved about it. But although the magic left books for awhile, I feel that love returning, albeit slowly, this year. I hope.

In the meantime, last year, before September, I still read, and sometimes for pleasure, and these are some of the favourite lines I came across:

"Goddamn," John said to me when he closed the book. "Don't ever tell me again you can't write. That's my birthday present to you."
I remember tears coming to my eyes.
I feel them now.
In retrospect, this had been my omen, my message, the early snowfall, the birthday present no one else could give me.
He had twenty-five nights left to live.

I know it's early, but I keep thinking he's still here. Well, not here, I know he's not here, but on his way here. On his way back from somewhere coming here.
Of course, I don't think it's my old dad in his old body coming here. It's my old dad, in a new form.
Thinking your dad might be coming in a new form is not so bad. It's like you're always excited, and getting ready, and listening for the door.

Or when your heart crashed so young at 54 as you fell from mom's arms t the dance floor did you see islands?

I don't like to think of myself as an insincere person but if I say I love you and I don't mean it then what else am I? Will I cherish you, adore you, make way or you, make myself better for you, look at you and always see you, tell you the truth? And if love is not those things then what things?

new years backwards

2010-01-06T00:31:00.002-05:00

We counted backwards from ten to one and hugged and popped corks and I danced and I sang so hard I lost my voice and I wore a jumpsuit because I can wear a dress any other day and I counted backwards and closed my eyes tight and wished even harder.

by the way, you know you've always been the one

2010-01-03T17:12:00.002-05:00

I like to think that as the clock struck midnight and Thursday became Friday and 2009 turned into 2010 and the aughts became the past, the sky opened up and covered the entire city in fluffy white flakes. Can you imagine a more beautiful greeting to all this change I'm still not ready to embrace? I may have already been three beers and two glasses of champagne in, but I remember all that actually met me outside was grey slush and everything ugly and nothing pretty.

Yet hours and drinks later, my memory is less true and more wishful and so I can tell myself that flakes really were falling as I jumped into a cab and headed somewhere I probably shouldn't have. But although I knew this, at that moment, it was the only place I would've been, and my head was spinning and my heart was thumping and I was fidgeting in expectation as I blurted his address aloud. The parties had ended and the streets were dark and still and quiet and because of all the racing going on inside of me, I like to believe it was snowing as he greeted me on his doorstep.

I snuck out in the morning and waited in a bus shelter and wondered why I had just done what I did. But then it started snowing. Big and fluffy and white and for real this time. In that instant, the city was suddenly mine again and new and clean and beautiful. A little late, but it returned nonetheless. And at that moment, I knew why I'd done what I did. Sometimes all one needs is to be held on the city's most magical night when she feels no sparkle inside herself. And then my sparkle returned. Not in the form of a boy, but in the way everything outside the bus window became unknown but also all sorts of familiar underneath those flakes.

So Toronto, I may have been hiding away, but you've always been the one. Not some boy and especially not that one. No. Never. Just you.

yeah i know

2009-12-29T00:32:00.003-05:00

It's almost a year since I flew this city brokenhearted, only to land in another city and fall in luv and in lust with every boy I passed on the street. Aside from all the perfect courtships and romances I imagined in an if-only-I-lived-here-forever-and-wasn't-leaving-tomorrow-we-would-love-each-other-always-and-I'd-never-know-what-heartbreak-is sort of way, I fell real in love with the sights and sounds and youthful energy and beautiful but still somewhat gritty charm of Brooklyn. Streets of the best dressed rubbed up against Old Poland or Little Italy. Gentrification may have run rampant, but Brooklyn's roots still stretched long and deep. And I know the same can be said about my own city which I know and love, but there was something magical about Brooklyn and my three days spent with it last year. Perhaps this allure was caused by just the simple unknown of the people and places and the rounding of unknown streets only to encounter more unknown people and places. But. I liked to, and still do, think this magic was caused by much more. Brooklyn is magic. Just walk Bedford at 11am or 11pm and you'll be met with the same energy and understand why. Still doubtful? Listen to this song and everything I've gushed will be imagined and proven true.

merry merry merry

2009-12-25T00:12:00.003-05:00

I remember clutching the phone tight to my ear in a dark still teenaged bedroom long after I stopped being a teenager at this very time on this very day for seven years. Waiting for the clock to blink twelve so I'd be the first to say those two words through a phone line across the city and sometimes even more cities to reach his very ear. It seemed important then but today the clock blinked twelve and I reached over and gave my mom a hug and really, there's no other place I'd rather be.

Merry Christmas to you all.

12.23.95

2009-12-23T21:14:00.003-05:00

It's December twenty-third and that means it's another year since you left us and I counted backwards today and thought to myself "fourteen years, how can that be" and it's a lifetime sometimes and at others it's like yesterday I sat beside you on a couch or just a week since I caught sight of you through a slit in your bedroom door or at most a month since I held your hand and sometimes it feels like a day a week a month because I can still close my eyes and remember the sound of your voice and what it felt like to ride up that escalator every summer and see you waiting at the top.

But then I also remember that your house is no longer yours and maybe you wouldn't recognize me if we were to pass on the street and there is the most beautiful and sweetest little boy who you don't even know exists. And today I can't help but think how much has changed since fourteen years ago and wonder how things would be if you were here to hug on Friday.

first date

2009-12-22T03:05:00.002-05:00

Waiting on a streetcorner in the cold for some boy you can hardly remember right and all you can think about is everything unrelated to this first date about to take place and everything related to that boy who walked you home the other night and how you still feel like bursting when beside him even though so much time has passed and how you hope this boy coming to meet you will be everything like that previous boy but a million times better.

now my heart is as cold as ice

2009-12-16T23:37:00.002-05:00

Last winter I bundled myself in layers and hope and waited on streetcorners under night skies of so many snowflakes. I was on strike and recently heartbroken and still healing from it all and so I believed I could still be healed by a bottle of 50 and the warmth of that neighbourhood bar. Weeknight after weeknight I stumbled home and still found the energy to stumble home on the weekends. No work and no school and suddenly nobody to call at night, I found myself in limbo, in the in-between, in something that could easily feel like stasis but was actually the complete opposite, in the possibility of that moment spent waiting to meet a friend on a streetcorner at 11pm with the whole night ahead of us.

Last night I bundled myself in two sweaters and a scarf that hid half my face and I waited on that same streetcorner in a freeze that felt all too familiar. But this time there were no snowflakes and there may be no school but there is too much work in its place and there is still nobody to call at night. You may still call this the time of the in-between and reassure me that possibilities await that I have yet to imagine, and all this may be true, but last night that neighbourhood bar was warm and buzzing in a way it can only ever be in the winter but I was only cold.

Out of school (for good?), there's less movement, less anticipation, less striving towards something even if it may never be tangible. And maybe I've been looking to replace all that purpose with lost boys who won't ever be fixed. Because even though I always know this, they give me something to work towards and someone to imagine walking through the door of that neighbourhood bar to shed some warmth all over the candelight and all over me. Whatever may be the reason, it's time to give up project after project because flannel can only keep you warm for a night and they never ever call like they say they will.

And sure, I know I deserve more but that doesn't matter right now either. Right now I don't want bad or good or even the perfect in-between. Fifteen days left to the year and I will spend them hibernating with best friends and my one favourite boy who interrupts me mid-conversation only to declare "you know what, I love you."

sister winter

2009-12-14T01:36:00.002-05:00

Alone again at the holidays feels both refreshing and sad and this year of the unexpected is almost drawing to a close and if I knew I'd be here a year ago I wouldn't have believed it one bit and that is both refreshing and sad, isn't it?

a whiter shade of pale

2009-11-30T00:06:00.003-05:00

Let's go back to a whiter shade of pale and a time when boys always walked you home only to walk you home. And let's go back to that time when boys always called to get to know you and didn't ask "u" all those important questions over t9. And let's especially go back to a time when boys didn't swear at you and only called too late at night and never for brunch.

don't i know you better than the rest?

2009-11-25T22:44:00.003-05:00

Time flies and it flew and suddenly it's almost winter again. I know that days and weeks and months and whole seasons passed, and feelings changed, and memories were misremembered, and everything burst green and blue before fading and falling away again, but last night I stepped outside and thought the fog was snow and the sight was only all kinds of familiar and no sorts of surprising.

Spring and summer were spent lost and in school, and fall was spent away, and so the reappearance of winter doesn't feel so much like a reappearance but rather like a reunion after a weekend apart. That tiger is back and glowing brighter than ever and he's guiding me home like all those times before and winter is not mine but this city is and it never feels more like home than in the winter.

When I think of this house and this street and all those other streets, too, everything and everyone and everywhere appears against a backdrop of the whitest snow and the brightest sun bouncing off that white snow or against a navy sky and one yellow moon. Maybe it's because so much growing and changing and losing and gaining were condensed into this season one year ago. Maybe. I feel like everything that mattered and that I can even begin to express can be traced back to this time in this city and so maybe that is why winter feels like home to me.

But as familiar as winter is, I realized how much has changed since a year ago when I passed him on the street this weekend with a new girl hanging off his arm in a way I never did. He looked away before I could realize who he was and what was happening, and I may have cried on what felt like the longest walk home, but it all cemented that he is past is past is past and it is a new winter and that winter was before and this winter is now. And last week I hung off another arm but that's all it was when last winter it would have been so much more.

when i'm with you

2009-11-25T00:44:00.003-05:00

I have too many words and not enough time to spill them all. Tomorrow I will tell everything I felt today.

In the meantime, did you know my city went from green to burnt and beautiful?

here comes the sun

2009-11-20T00:21:00.003-05:00

I once walked into the rain and saw him for the first time and it is raining today but a year ago it was snowing and he was walking out of my life and I out of his for the last time.

I said don't go and he said I have to and I gripped his hand harder than I ever had before and I said but I love you and he said I can't do this and then he said I have to go and then the door opened and then it closed and that was the last time I saw him.

I woke up and felt as though everything and everyone was breaking and I was crumbling along with it all but I parted my hair in the middle anyways and told myself it was time to stop hiding and I went about my day but I did not eat once and I laughed and I sent too many questions and never got any answers and I walked home at night and sobbed the entire way.

One whole year later I woke up and forgot what today is and I felt mostly happy and hopeful but then it was grey and raining and I felt slightly overcast myself and then work was awful and I kept asking myself what I'm doing there and then it kept raining and before I knew it I was crying and running to the washroom and drying my eyes and then before I knew it again I was walking my city and thinking how it wasn't so awful outside after all and then I was laughing and then I was walking some more and I was so content that when I remembered what today isI could only think how today is so much better than that today a year ago.

truth

2009-11-09T00:50:00.002-05:00

And this is how revelations are made:

Before the drinks start flowing, you tell yourself to be strong this time around and to put away that phone and focus on the here and now as opposed to the what is and may be. The clock strikes 12:30, and you are still being true to your word, and you feel both happy and sad doing so. But but then a friend calls and tells you to meet her at a bar and that he is there and suddenly you are just happy because you didn't break your promise but you are still going to see him and you are going to see him in your new favourite outfit and you are going to waltz right into that bar and toss your hair back and pause upon recognition and say "oh! hi."

But the plan changes when you realize you've never waltzed anywhere and so you walk in like you always do and you pause in recognition and you say "oh" but never "hi" because he is there alright but he is there leaning against a wall with a girl you don't know and he is leaning in too close and his back is to you and then you watch as he touches her shoulder and you can only whisper "oh."

And then you think the plan might change back when he spots you later and gives you a hug and asks how you are. But this hug is the worst hug you've ever received because it is followed by you watching as grabs this girl you don't know and holds her close and kisses her kisses her in the middle of the bar and for you to see. And if there was or could ever be any doubt left, you are slapped across the face by it when he passes you on the sidewalk holding her very hand and doesn't even pause in recognition.

Yes, the boy is awful but this is not the revelation to be made. No. The revelation comes the next morning when you wake and the sun is shining so bright and it is so warm it feels like the first day of spring and not the last day of fall and you can't even bother wasting one ounce of sadness on this awful boy. You are surprised that after two months of whatever you were, you don't miss him one bit or feel any trace of anything for what was and what ended. Instead. You feel free. And you run into the past that day, too, and the past still affects you all this time later and this is when the real and true revelation hits. No. You aren't in love with the past but you still love the way the past made (makes?) you feel and you realize you have been floating unaffected through the past few months and the awful boys these past few months brought and you haven't been affected for real since the past was the present and it was winter and you were walking together and you finally believe you deserve to feel that way again.

dreams

2009-11-07T05:01:00.000-05:00

Players only love you when they're playing.

Truth.

true love will find you in the end

2009-11-06T00:54:00.003-05:00

If I was brave, I would roll over and say "Brunch" just like that and without a question mark or two because of course he would say yes because where else would he want to be.

No questions. Only definites.

If I remembered who I was, I wouldn't let him walk out that door at five am because he would never have been here to begin with because I deserve a spoon and a shiver or two and a good morning hello.

If I was smart, I would stop chasing boys who don't want to be caught and I would stop believing I'm the one to catch them and I would be okay alone at night.

If it was a year ago, he'd be here and he wouldn't be leaving at five am and he would stay all morning and we'd make spoons and criss cross applesauce and he'd make brunch without me even rolling over to ask and at night we would huddle together under covers and lights and read our own stories with hands rested on each other's knees and it would be simple and perfect and he'd look over and his eyes would be shining and he'd say "Sweetums, I love you" and I'd believe it because I knew he meant it without a doubt and despite what may have been said or felt earlier because his look was so true and we were reading under covers and he put down his comic just to reach over to hug me hello and he'd open his arms so wide in those greetings and there was so much love inbetween those arms that it swallowed me so fully and so whole sometimes and I was so happy I could hardly breathe.

True love will find me in the end?

yellow leaves

2009-10-31T01:31:00.002-04:00

Because this song is beautiful and what I imagine nostalgia to sound like, and because it's been exactly one year since I roamed this city for the perfect pieces to complete a perfect costume in the hopes of restoring a perfect love. I wanted to be his personal superhero and I felt I was when he turned to me on the walk home and asked "What should we dress up as next year?" like it was the most simple question because of course there would be a next year, and a next year after that, and another next next next always and forever.

Because every next slipped away three weeks later and now a year has passed and I cannot even remember how it feels to wrap myself around the promise of a next and breathe in the comforts of its taken-for-granted-simplicity. He's a faraway past, and there are no superheroes this Halloween, and there are boys still, and these are boys who may be the next in line and the next right now, but will never carry with them the next morning, or the next weekend, or the next call, or the next perfect look shot during a walk home down a neon lit city street.

Because the leaves outside my window have somehow become yellow again and I do not know where this year went and because no boy has looked at me quite that way in exactly one year and because I don't know what comes next and I don't know if I even want a next but I do know I would like a boy who replies and because he's become a year ago and because this song is beautiful.

new york, i'm going to love you again

2009-10-23T00:50:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow my favourite city and I will be reunited and I will feel the tiniest and I will walk the streets like I know where I'm going and I will strut along like I belong there and I will jump and snap and freeze frame the moments and wonder and guess what waits for me in Toronto when I finally return.

And before all this leaving began, this is what mattered.

hi

2009-10-18T23:59:00.003-04:00

This space has been empty for too long because I've been elsewhere (really!) and not because there are no words left because there are actually too many (really!). The past few weeks have been a rush of stasis turning into movement multiplied by a thousand. I went from jobless and unsure to employed and a little less unsure for the time being. I missed a boy I shouldn't and then I missed another boy I also shouldn't and now I don't know who (or what) I miss. I watched my city burst orange and red and I saw the days cool and darken sooner and sooner than before and I felt my spirits sink more and more each and every time. But I ate pumpkin pie four days in a row and I warmed my belly with turkey and stuffing and I danced in the kitchen with my four year old cousin in my arms and I felt a little orange and red inside myself. I went east and I'm packing to head slightly south and I still pinch myself because I can't believe I've been lucky enough to see this much this year. And today I wore a cap and robe and walked across a stage and shook hands and fully closed this chapter and realized I did it alone in the best possible way.

snip snip

2009-10-08T01:12:00.004-04:00

Change was the name of the game this past year and this year is winding down because it's dark by seven suddenly and everything I've been anticipating is now past and I have no thoughts in my head except that my rent just bounced and oh my, shouldn't I do something about that? and why why why is the sky only ever grey these days?

I've taken to walking home after work even though it takes an hour and even if the sky is that grey because the fresh air feels perfect after an afternoon surrounded by computers and I can listen to Sherry on repeat and feel as though there is a whole lot up ahead still waiting to be anticipated.

time is on my side?

2009-10-05T03:11:00.003-04:00

It's 3 am and time to get my head (and heart) out of the clouds and plant my feet firmly to the ground. It's time to get my life (back?) on track. It's time to get a job. It's time to stop holding onto the hope of it all. It's time to realize that if he was "into me," like they say, we would have brunched or talked for real or at least texted (!) by now. It's time to realize that broken boys can't be fixed, and even if they could, it's not up to me to do the fixin'. It's time to figure out what I want. It's time to clean this room. It's time to read a book for pleasure again. It's time to take a long walk into the sunshine and it's time to jump in puddles when the rain comes. It's time to hope and dream big and it's also time to let go of some of those hopes and dreams that are weighing me down.

au revoir

2009-10-02T00:16:00.001-04:00

Bagels and beautiful boys and this song playing on repeat this weekend. Talk soon.

go away i'm no good for you

2009-10-01T00:25:00.004-04:00

Since when did "not wanting a boyfriend" turn into sacrificing self-respect? I'm no one night whatever or rebound this or late night that. And maybe these boys don't see that because I'm not letting them see that because I don't want whatever the alternative may be and maybe I'm going for these boys who won't see because I don't want the ones who will. I want to wash everything clean and I want to bury deep under these covers and hide away until the sun promises to stay for real this time. Tonight I walked by his apartment and his bedroom light was on and his curtains were pulled back just far enough to look in and catch a glimpse of a life I barely remember anymore. Standing on that street corner, I was no longer waiting. I was just cold.

And can "not wanting a boyfriend" carry with it a little dignity and comfort? Is it possible to meet before last call and talk about your day and ask about his and have him ask about that day you talked about the last time you two met before last call? And is it possible for him to place his hand on your knee, and keep it there, because he wants to and not just because he knows what follows last call? And can you take this boy home and put on your favourite record and listen to it while he kisses your face and while he kisses your neck and while he kisses you all over and can you even listen to this favourite record when the kissing is all over and the lights are off and you're under the sheets and he's under the sheets too because he's sleeping over and not running home at five am? And can you wake up to this boy still holding you tight and can you turn over and kiss him good morning and kiss him some more and then when the kissing is all over say "hey, do you wanna grab some brunch?" without any hesitation because you know he'll say yes. And afterwards can you hug goodbye and say "talk to you later" because you know you will even though you don't know when and even though you won't think much about when that will be because he said "next time" in passing the night before?

And is "not wanting a boyfriend" even possible when you are me and want the comforts and securities of him without any of the messy expectations and realities that follow?

no strings attached

2009-09-26T22:38:00.003-04:00

The name of the game was simple: don't get attached. Easier said than done for someone who isn't me. Attached to what, I don't know, but attached I've become. Attached to my phone and attached to the possibilities of a new night and attached to that first moment of hope that hits you as you close the door behind you into the dark for the first time and attached to that first breeze that blows your hair just right as you strut down the street believing in the possibilities of the night and attached to the way those possibilities grow and build bigger and bigger with each beer that goes down and how these possibilities soon become possibilities you actually find yourself believing in because it's 12:30 and you are texting him and he is replying yes yes yes and this is the fourth time he's said yes so of course it means something or you at least really really really want to believe it does and attached to the way he places his hand on the small of your back as you swig back more beer because you know how the night is going to end and attached to the giddy cab ride home and one last cigarette before a walk up another flight of stairs and the shutting of a door. And you are mostly attached to the way he holds you tight afterwards and how you believe it' somehow matters each and every time.

love minus zero

2009-09-24T00:21:00.002-04:00

Memories don't work the way we expect them to. And memories don't last the way we rely on them to. We are constantly forgetting and misremembering and believing in a true past that is more fiction than anything resembling reality in the end. We remember what we want to when we want to and we change those memories when they don't suit us anymore. But as easy as it is to forget and misremember the past, the real and true past always finds a way of creeping back in and reminding us of who we were and how we are today.

Last weekend, half drunk off beer and fatigue, I made a spoon around a boy who came in and out of my life in less than a month and who I will undoubtedly misremember and probably romanticize in the coming weeks. It was either too late or too early, and my room was so dark I could only make out a faint silhouette against his heavy breathing. Never saying much between bottles and kisses, this boy could barely be called a friend. But in that moment, when his breathing gave way to a light snore and he kicked once no twice in his sleep, he was suddenly him and I was transported two years back into a bed and a room I hardly think of anymore. My hand found its way alongside his belly, and I moved in closer, pressing my cheek to his back like all those times before. But he was not him and all those times before only existed in a room twenty minutes away and memories and memories ago.

And although I knew all this, and even though I don't want to relive that past one bit anymore, the simple comfort of hugging in sleep brought with it memories and feelings I thought were well buried for the time being. A relationship is still in no way the name of the game these days, but perhaps falling asleep to a warm back may be something worth getting used to again.

with a flower in my hair

2009-09-22T19:41:00.004-04:00

San Francisco was like a dream of the bluest sky and the bluest water and the most perfect stillwarm breeze that ran up my spine and tossed my hair into the sunshine and held it there and I didn't stop smiling once.

hibernate

2009-09-21T11:40:00.001-04:00

This time of the in-between calls for hibernation until life works itself out again and I figure out how I feel and what I want.

summer turned into september

2009-09-21T01:36:00.002-04:00

My summer came and went in the past three weeks. Each day seemed sunnier than the last, and with the sun came long walks home and a bouquet of flowers and more park-sits than the previous three months saw and a flower in my hair and all those gentle people there. Sometimes the sun shon so bright it burst yellow and the sky looked coloured by my favourite shade of blue that I had to stop and aim my camera up up up to hold onto the hope of it all. And this hope carried late into the night when the temperatures said it was no longer summer but the beer swimming around inside said otherwise and messages were sent and phones vibrated in response and I saw him through the dark and my bed was suddenly occupied again and maybe backs were rubbed and maybe spoons were made and maybe that's all it was and maybe I got the summer I was waiting for but didn't even know I wanted.

we'll dance the night away

2009-09-13T11:12:00.002-04:00

I've been avoiding this space because how do you reduce the biggest year of your life into words that can even begin to communicate all that you felt and learned and grew when you felt and learned and grew more than you ever have before?

At 3:30 on Tuesday morning, I submitted my very last paper, and how anti-climatic it all was. With the simple click of that 'Send' button, I could no longer wrap myself around an identity I've clung to for the past twenty years. Suddenly at twenty-three, the future was wide open and the possibilities endless. As this realization slowly hit me over the course of the next few days, the euphoria soon hit, too. Nineteen papers and two-hundred-and-fifty-five pages later, I am done.

School may have been my worst enemy this year, but in spite of it all and because of it all and with it, I survived. I navigated a new campus and remembered new faces and new names and I got my heart broken and I began to imagine a new future and I changed my part and I went on strike and I fell in love with Brooklyn and I opened my heart again and I got my heart broken again and I knew these new faces and new names and I cared less and less and drank more and more and I visited a best friend and a country I loved more than I thought I would and I wrote a bit and I fell down and I fell down again and I embraced this new future and I sang and I danced and I grew and I burst and I swung high into the night last night and never felt happier.

fisheye party

2009-09-09T19:49:00.006-04:00

There is too much to write and not enough space to put it all. A real update will come soon. In the meantime, a party in photos. Thanks to Maria for such beautiful shots.

our way to fall

2009-09-01T00:43:00.003-04:00

Even in my most cynical state I can listen to this song and remember how it felt to be fifteen again. Away from the phone and each other for the first time in the first three months of our dating, I covered a box with hearts and filled it with thirty-six notes. One note for each hour we'd be apart. How precious it all seems now, but at the time, those thirty-six hours felt like a lifetime. A year later, away from school for the day, he filled my locker with a handful of paper hearts, a bouquet of flowers, and the lines to my favourite song. I miss you I miss you I miss you so much.

At fifteen, the simple touch of a hand on a back could send my heart racing. At twenty-three, my heart has steadied and grown older and wiser and skips a beat less and less. But this song transports me back to that futon and that night and that first kiss that happened so fast and was so light I stood stunned afterwards, watching as he disappeared into the night, wondering if I had simply imagined it all. At fifteen, he was my wonderland of freckles bursting, and at twenty-three and with this song, I am still bursting.

can i dance with you

2009-08-27T01:37:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow is (potentially) my very last day of class ever. In mere hours when people ask who I am and what I'm all about about, I won't be able to give that vague but still self-important answer: "Oh, you know, I'm a student" like it means everything. Because the truth is, I have no answers, only questions. What I do know is how good this song makes me feel and how when I listen to it I believe there can only be greatness waiting for me when I turn that corner into the unknown tomorrow afternoon.

another girl another planet

2009-08-25T00:46:00.002-04:00

The other day I watched the sky turn from blue to black and open wide in anger. The road became a river and I watched as someone's trash transformed into a boat and floated away. There was a rumble deep within, and flashes that lit everything grey for a moment or two, and I got wet just from standing near the door. I watched a man fall down and I watched umbrellas turn inside-out and back again. But then I watched as the river slowed and as the black suddenly glowed yellow and that street, this city, was new, and waking, and goddamn yellow, and bursting.

This song makes me feel like the past months of rumbles and falling down and cracking skies are receding like a river turning back into a road because this song is so happy and so hopeful that all I want to do is dance and be forever new and waking and goddamn bursting come September.

across the sea again

2009-08-19T23:45:00.003-04:00

My wombmate is much too far away and these memories just make me miss her much too much. She will always be just what I needed.

a weekend in photos

2009-08-18T23:05:00.004-04:00

She arrived in the city bearing gifts and stories and it soon felt like no time had passed as we (finally) reunited with a summer park-sit and white wine and nighttime strolls and too much food and faux-air conditioning from cab rides where our hair flew around our faces and we suddenly felt glamorous like from another era. How nice it all was.

also! lately.

2009-08-17T18:51:00.002-04:00

if you leave

2009-08-17T18:33:00.002-04:00

I feel as though I've lost a large part of my youth this summer. It all began in June with the news of Michael's death, and although I was always too young to ever be a real fan, I found myself suddenly glued to the television and youtube, already nostalgic for our fallen star. I knew that part of my youth, our generation, had disappeared with the final wave of that one sparkling glove.

And then news of Mister Hughes' death arrived two weeks ago. Although I haven't felt the need to watch The Breakfast Club since high school, I still instantly felt the urge to listen to Simple Minds on repeat and wonder what'll happen now that he's gone. I remember seeing Sixteen Candles for the first time when I was thirteen and pressing pauserewind on that final scene so many times that the VHS tape is now forever marked by my younger self. Awkward in bangs that were too thick and glasses that were too big, Samantha gave me hope that in three years, things would be different. Things would be better. That I would find my own Jake Ryan. And although my Jake ended up taking the form of a Justin, to this day, I still can't look away from a boy dressed in dark hair and red plaid because he might just be the Jake to my Samantha and then of course I would finally get my happily ever after in the end, right?

oh, you've got a twisted tongue

2009-08-10T19:29:00.002-04:00

The other night, I was brave. I approached and asked questions and made small talk and maybe even cracked a joke (or two, or three!). I stood outside in the rain at a corner that is still so familiar, and I was aware of him standing nearby. I said goodbye and left, only to stall at a green light and get wetter by the second. I shifted back and forth and back and forth before running back to that familiar corner.

"Do you guys want to grab a drink with us?"

"We have to load up first, but if we still feel up to it afterwards then forsure. Where are you going?"

"Just across the street over there." I point.

"Over there?"

"Yup."

"Okay, cool. Maybe we'll see you later then."

"Bye!" I wave a parting over my shoulder.

I never saw him after that, but that is okay because for that moment, in the rain, at 1:30 on an August night, I suddenly had only my racing heart and not a care in the world. On stage he had mouthed along with his eyes closed, and in that instant I knew I needed to know him. And know him I did. It may have been for a mere moments as opposed to the hours I so imagined, but I was brave and I knew him and that is all that I needed the other night.

feet on the ground, head in the sky

2009-08-07T19:22:00.002-04:00

The full moon shone bright last night, but the streetlights still managed to shine brighter. Nothing felt spooky, not even that ghost from the past that just won't go away. I sang loud "feet on the ground, head in the sky!" in preparation for tonight's birthday sing-a-long. I felt like running home but thought twice. I fell asleep with a spinning head and woke up mid-sleep with tears streaming down my face, my eyelashes heavy with mascara. I woke up again, this time late for work but with time already moving too slow.

patience is a virtue

2009-08-05T00:52:00.003-04:00

Impatient should be my middle name. I hate waiting for the simplest of things: a sunny day, the latest True Blood, a phone call that I still don't believe will actually come, an e-mail back, photos from faraway. Isn't anticipation the best part of everything and anything because whatever it ends up being will never be quite as good as it seemed in your head? I know this but I still can't help tapping my foot and checking the time and clicking refresh refresh refresh again and again and again.

eeeek

2009-08-04T02:02:00.000-04:00

You say "It's August."

I say "How?"

purge

2009-08-02T04:35:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I think I'm my own worst enemy and I wonder why I constantly refuse to let the past go the way I do. I wonder why I choose to relive the good and the bad through an inbox of filtered messages at four in the morning when I have a paper to write that is already a day overdue. Lately I've been reminding myself that I'm in a really good place (aside from the overdue paper), and that I don't need the past the way I thought I once did because it isn't the past that actually existed, and even if it was, it was a messy and emotional past a lot of the time and I feel much saner these days anyways.

But even though I know all this, I can't help reading those words sent months and years ago, and wondering what went wrong.

I think Martha is right. It's time to hit that delete button once and for all.

to clean

2009-08-01T03:26:00.002-04:00

Nights are funny funny funny things. Disappointing, mostly. Surpsing, sometimes. Good, tonight. More digits were exchanged, and that'll probably just be that and that is okay. Words were exchanged earlier, and those are the words that matter. And those are the words that will go nowhere and a split screen reminds me of this fact when I feel my most hopeful. Days become months and months blend into seasons and suddenly it's been that long since I touched his face. And no faces will be touched if those words become true, but stories will be shared and friendships cemented and that is all I need tonight.

after the gold rush

2009-07-30T21:01:00.002-04:00

My tan lines are already fading and it's not even August. I have yet to leave this city this summer (a weekend in the 905 doesn't quite cut it). Every corner seems smellier and dirtier than the last. I haven't sat on the deck as much as I want to because I've been sitting inside typing away away away on paper after paper after paper and trying to believe that this will all be worth something someday. That it'll mean something. That I'll be proud. Of what, I do not know.

But the other day there was a walk in the dark and the streets were still and there was no garbage to smell and see and there was a boy in plaid and then there was another boy in plaid and then there were strawberries and my first cherries of the season and there was this song playing on repeat and I closed my eyes and all my worries and reservations suddenly floated away away away.

it's too late

2009-07-24T03:30:00.002-04:00

Nothing lasts anymore and magic happens less and less and friends find your ex on the street with a girl who isn't you and even though you don't want to be that girl you still can't stop crying upon receiving the message.

sleep all summer

2009-07-21T21:45:00.003-04:00

I saw 500 Days of Summer the other night, and despite being a little too precious at times, it still managed to be so true. With a jumpy timeline that perfectly captured the way we (mis)remember and nostalgize the past, it managed to encapsulate the entire course of a relationship. From the initial meeting and those sparks and that yearning to know him, to the beginning where everything is new and hopeful and possible, to the first moments of panic when looks begin to fade and touches don't last as long, to the messy end, and the even messier untangling that follows, 500 Days of Summer got it right.

There's a scene in which Josheph Gordon Levitt's character says to Zooey Deschanel's character "I just want to know when you wake up that you'll feel the same way you did about me the day before," and she simply replies "But nobody can give you that." Sitting in the theatre, I couldn't believe how true and sad those words were. If love's never secure, then what's the point of all that risk and all that potential hurt and all that healing that never fully leaves you the way you were before?

But then there are nights like last Thursday where you aren't even looking but your eyes still manage to catch sight of the boy across the bar. He is beautiful in his white shirt and curly hair, and you haven't been this attracted to someone since him. And so you clumsily try to make conversation and awkwardly try to charm, both of which fail. And even though you know love cannot guarantee or promise anything, you still wish you had company for that long walk home.

young hearts spark fire

2009-07-17T02:16:00.002-04:00

Tonight three years past hit me in the face. Hard. And with a mean glare to top it all off. I didn't see his face, but he looked just as I remembered from behind.

Tonight I saw a deja-vu but with a different band and in a different city. He was slightly shorter, and had a smaller nose and not such deep bags under his eyes, but it was like being transported back three years without any of the charm and sweetness I once possessed.

I walked home alone and regretful. I'm sure nothing would have happened, but the what if is the worst. What if I had just braved up and said "Hi. I think you're cute. What are you doing later? Nothing? Oh, well how would you like to come home and spoon and play with my cat and listen to records and kiss and take our clothes off and spoon some more and fall asleep to the most perfect night?"

Silly, I know. But what if he had said yes?

yes it is

2009-07-15T23:40:00.002-04:00

This is not the summer I had planned and imagined and dreamed of during every long winter night. Both cooler and busier than I expected, I like it more and less than I thought I would. Despite the garbage strike that just doesn't seem like it will ever end, the city is still beautiful and bursting with plans. I still would like to watch the city on water, and I'd like to watch an old favourite on a blanket near the water, and I'd like stickier nights and stickier mornings, but there's still a month and a half left for all these wishes (and others) to come true.

This summer is not like the last few because there are no drives down deserted nighttime country roads where you're flying along with Maggie May and your boy by your side. And there are no boat rides into the sunset with rainbows bouncing off the water and your hair tangling in your smile. But there are visits from faraway friends and your most favourite boy to look forward to, and there is more happiness than sadness and there is sunshine and there is time passing and hope growing in the meantime.

trains

2009-07-12T19:59:00.004-04:00

I snapped this on my phone on the way to school one morning. The sight struck me as odd for many reasons, the most obvious being the unexpected greenery smack dab in the middle of the city. A field of subway dreams, what were these two cars doing so far from rush hour?

Staring out other windows on other commutes, I can almost see myself, one year younger and side parted, walking down the same street. I watch as I head into the LCBO, pause in front of a menu posted to a window, decide against it and head to an old favourite, emerging with a bag of take out and Friday night plans. I know what's playing on my I-pod, and I know why my feet are dragging, and I know I'll soon straighten my shoulders before telling myself to stop being silly as I head down a back alley.

And since I'm on the subject of trains, I must say that I'm loving this song. I can't say enough about the two of us my arms are breaking I can't hold you enough oh, I can't hold you enough oh, I can't hold you enough I want to love you again I want to love you again I want to love you again I want to love you again I want to love you again I want to love you again I want to love you again!

i've got a freeway mind

2009-07-05T12:07:00.003-04:00

fireworks part 2

2009-07-03T11:43:00.003-04:00

Unlike last year, I saw fireworks this Canada Day. In fact, this Canada Day was so much better than the last that I saw fireworks not once, but twice. I stood on a bench as the sky bursted red and purple and all things sparkly as they sang words of inspiration in the form of an old favourite.

It was a perfect moment as perfect moments go. July 1st suddenly felt like January 1st and everything seemed new and possible for once.

The possibility of that night and this summer led me to push through a crowd of people at the sight of a familiar windbreaker. Without a pause to analyze or doubt, I tapped his shoulder and opened my arms wide in greeting. And there was nothing left to analyze or doubt. It was dark, and there were two beers swimming around inside, and the noises of the crowd made it seem like everyone else felt new and possible for once, too. The words spilled fast and the smiles came the easiest. So this is what it's like, I thought to myself. Friends.

In the midst of our reunion, mini fireworks shot off beside us, causing the dark to suddenly glow green. And this was another perfect moment as perfect moments go. Not because of the way part of me still hoped for a grand declaration of love and remorse and how I could actually imagine it happening, but because everything felt natural and not scary and there were fireworks and I finally realized how far I'd come from a year ago.

Seeking strength in mystery. Let us feel the air inside the clothes we wear. Try to find ghosts behind the buildings in our lives. Draw us lines. Bad weather. Anxiety and fear. Don't give in. Call on her. And live in fascination. Fascination forever.

fireworks

2009-07-01T12:13:00.002-04:00

A year ago I knew it was over but it took me four more months to let go. We were no longer we and he was no longer he and I was no longer me. A door slammed and hopes fell and a realization came all too fast and there were never any fireworks.

There may not be any fireworks today, but for reasons completely beyond my control this time. And to that I say bring on the sparklers instead!

words of wisdom

2009-06-29T18:38:00.003-04:00

Inspirational words can be found everywhere in this city. Sure, some are more poetic than others, but they all help in times like these. These are the times when times are like these. These are the times when you suddenly feel old because you feel like you've been floating forever. But floating down the street, or floating into a dimly lit washroom, a stranger's words suddenly make you feel like everything is going to be okay.

oh you've got a twisted tongue

2009-06-28T23:56:00.003-04:00

Today my fortune cookie said "Just be yourself. You are wonderful."

A weekend away from the city on the city's busiest weekend is full of a drive into the country and the tallest and the greenest trees and air that you almost forgot existed. It is suddenly feeling the way this song sounds and thinking your fortune must be right.

It is also wishing you could find nail polish that matches the colour of your mom's flowers.

you're such a pretty pretty pretty

2009-06-22T18:20:00.003-04:00

Lately, I've been elsewhere.

I've been biking down tree lined streets (and not into even one bush!) in Tokyo. I've been grocery shopping in Montreal in the prettiest dress I have yet to find. I've been walking up walk-ups in Brooklyn. I've been drinking in Berlin and drinking coffee (as if!) in Paris. I've been falling in love in London. And I've fallen in love with Tokyo and Montreal and Brooklyn and Berlin and Paris and London and wherever else my dreams settle for a day, or two.

But this past weekend, it was impossible to imagine, or want to be, elsewhere. This city finally felt like mine again. We crammed ourselves into the corner of a favourite patio and drank as the sun set and drank some more after that. We braved the rain and celebrated streets the best way possible (through our taste buds, of course). We shook our fists at that rain and danced instead. We reunited at every street corner. We danced some more. We brunched and recapped and explored new streets that made me feel like I was visiting this city for the very first time and falling in love all over again. And we topped it all off with 1/2 mint and 1/2 oreo gelato.

So how can I go elsewhere when there are roots here. Roots that are strong and deep and wrap me up in the most perfect hug when I begin to think elsewhere could even ever be possible.

Toronto, you are such a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl.

blue jean baby

2009-06-15T19:32:00.003-04:00

Saturday, sitting on our deck in too little, it felt like the sun and Elton were shining and singing just for me. The sky was so blue, and if there was a cloud up there, I didn't see it. In that moment, everything seemed possible, and today, it still does. I hope this feeling lasts.

the motherland

2009-06-13T01:58:00.002-04:00

How do you describe an entire country in a few photos and poorly placed together words? It's a rather daunting and ultimately impossible task, and not one I will undertake here. All I can say is this: to me, during those two weeks away, Japan was a country composed of order and politeness and beautiful bluegrey draped shirts and high heels always and okonomiyaki and onigiri and crowds and bows and everything cute and green everywhere and lots of beauty and as I descended into Toronto the sun was streaming hard through the windows and I looked out and saw my favourite skyline below and it looked so small it didn't seem real but it was still beautiful in a different sort of way and even though I was glad to be back and even though the sun was streaming so hard, I couldn't help but let a tear (or two) land as the plane did as well.