temptation

I never met anyone quite like you before.

fairytale of new york

Up, down, turn around
Please don't let me hit the ground
Tonight I think I'll walk alone
I'll find my soul as I go home

The days are flying by in visions of bows and gold wrap. I am done writing for the time being, and beers are warming me against the cold. I want to buy the most perfect presents for all those I hold the dearest. I've taken to walking alone at night just fine. I sometimes forget for a full twenty-four hours. I want to go ice skating and build snowmen and have a tobogganing race. I want to watch Winona Ryder and Ethan Hawke fall in love all over again and I want to sing along to that other Lisa. And I hope this happiness lasts because I like the way I'm feeling.

519

It might just be the essay in my talking, but right now I'd give anything for one of those summer nights a few years back where the air was warm and still and my arms were completely bare and I'd walked all the way from the train station and the leaves along Central were so green and it was busy but still quiet in a smaller town way and everything felt safe and familiar and patio lights blurred and hugs were given and it felt good to be back.

devil town

"Music for cold nights under incomprehensible stars, for cups of coffee and cigarette smoke, for a long walk by the river where you might be alone or you might meet someone. It is music for encounters in shabby stairways, the music of lovemaking in a narrow bed, the tendernesses, the caress, the pull of strong arms and legs. Music for men and women thin as bones. Music for your invisibility. Music for your warms that ache from longing from wishing he might be standing at the top of the stairs waiting to take the bags and then lean over and kiss you and even his silly stubble scratching your cold face would be welcome and you only discover that you're crying when you try to find your keys-- Music for a day in the fall when you buy a new coat and think perhaps you will live here for the rest of your life, perhaps it will be possible, you have changed so much, would they recognize you? would you recognize your country? would you recognize yourself?"

My days are brimming over with plans and this city sleeps under a blanket of snow. I feel more and more like myself again. I am not writing an essay I should be. I'm wondering where the love goes when it's over. I'm re-reading words and wishing I hadn't and remembering forgotten safeness. I'm making plans. I'm excited for three days from now, and all the days and weeks following. I love Beach House. I'm willing the unknown. Finally.

I also love perfectly timed packages from best friends in faraway places. My wombmate knows me well, and knows just what will cheer me up. I can't wait for a faraway reunion out east. But in the meantime, her love sent express post will tie me over.

You come running in on platform shoes

This essay will be done in mere days, and after that all I want to do is wrap the prettiest presents and invite friends over for delicious flatbread sandwiches filled with roasted red pepper hummus and feta and sundried tomatoes and another ingredient I haven't quite figured out yet and I want to take long walks in the sun and I want to take more photos and drink more wine and clean this room and re-arrange furniture and play with Kirby and drink more tea and watch movies that remind me of Christmas (Beautiful Girls, Serendipity, While You Were Sleeping) and go ice skating and play in the snow and read the books I want to read and take up sewing and fashion myself a new wardrobe and bake endless cookies and dance to Teen Age Riot in a room lit with Christmas lights.

vogue

I'm starting to feel more and more like myself each day.

goodbye

I feel as though I've bid so many goodbyes in the last little while. Goodbye you and you and you, goodbye this memory or that, goodbye seasons, goodbye school, goodbye goodbye goodbye!

But in her case, I know it's not so much goodbye as it is farewell for now. We will meet again soon, and in the meantime there's always nocturnal chats to keep us busy and connected. Stay good, my dear.

Oh, and with all these goodbyes come new beginnings that make me so happy and hopeful for the days ahead. It's not just my part that's changing.

in that harbour of a room, you'll find your anchor soon