Just money, just allergies

Losing, Winning, Living

Him: Maybe she’ll come for dinner?
Me: No. She’s still on her adventure.
Him: What’s an adventure?
Me: It’s…it’s an exciting trip. (hesitating) Is…is that ok? If it’s just papa?
Him: (nodding) I want ham.
Me (relieved) You got it, man.
Him: I’m not a man, I’m a boy!
Me: Yes. (laughing) You’re my boy.

If only all these things were this easy to solve.

He’s graduating from pre3K this week. Like everything that should be a good memory, this one is bittersweet. It seems like we just started school.

I couldn’t sleep the other night because I knew that most of the other kids would have both parents there and he would look out and just see me.

Was going to call up the ABFF, or my sister, or even one of his sitters to come but, thankfully, Alison’s mom can make it. It’s a small thing but I slept like a log the day she told me she’d make it.

The thought of him just seeing me in the audience bummed me out no end.

Mother-in-law: Can I stay over the night before?
Me: God, no….joking! You’re always welcome here.

Should mention that I’m 100% confident that if I called Mouse and told her it was his graduation, she would come. Full stop. Cause she would do anything for him. But everything’s complicated enough as it is.

In any case, there’s so much guilt involved in parenting. Suppose it’s like a poor parent that looks at wealthier parents and feeling a niggling bit of jealousy and longing.

Except it’s not money. If only it were just money.

My dad once said to me that, if a problem can be solved by money, it’s not that big a problem. But when you have problems that can’t be solved by money, it’s a real problem.

But the boy doesn’t seem to notice, which is a small blessing, I suppose.

Another parent: Hi. I’ve been meaning to tell you that your son must be the happiest boy I’ve ever seen.
Me: Gotta say, that means more to me than you might imagine.
Her: Oh…well, it’s true. You and your wife are doing something right. (pause) Are you…
Me: Sorry, just…allergies. (clearing throat) Thanks. That means a lot.

I’ve got a lot going on but I’m trying to sort through it all so it’ll make sense to you. Cause not a lotta it makes sense to me.

And it’s Father’s Day in a week.

Me: Oh, I’ll make you a croque monsieur!
Him: No! Ham!
Me: But a croque monsieur is…you know what? Nevermind. Let’s get you some ham, ok? We’ll go to the market together. (gets keys)
Him: OK! (sings)

Location: home
Mood: allergies. Lotsa allergies
Music: gimme some, gimme some, gimme some sign. I think that we’re supposed to be

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Blogarama - Observations Blogs

She’s on an adventure

Where I’m supposed to be

The boy: Papa!!
Me: (grabbing him) There’s my little guy! How are you? Did you miss papa?
Him: (laughs, shakes head) Nooooooooooooo…
Me: (feigning pain, shaking head) Hurtful.  Hurtful.  (brightening) Well, I missed you.
Him: Where’s Mouse?
Me: She’s…she’s on an adventure!
Him: In Brooklyn?
Me: (nodding) Yes! In Brooklyn.
Him: When she gonna be back?
Me: (frowning) Oh, I don’t know. She might be gone for a while. Adventures sometimes take a long time.
Him: Oh. (frowning) I miss her.
Me: Of course, I do too. And, I know for a fact that she misses you. She’s definitely going to see you again, don’t you worry.
Him Good! I love her like a…toothbrush!
Me: (laughing) I’m gonna take that as a compliment to her and tell you that I know that she loves you like TWO toothbrushes.
Him: That’s silly! (thinking, quiet) Papa, will you go on an adventure too?
Me: (imitating him, shakes head) Nooooooooooooo… I belong with you.
Him: (laughs, sings loudly) ♪♫♬I belong to you, you belong to me, you’re my sweetheart…♪♫♬
Me: (nodding) Always, boy. (hugging him) Always.

Location: home, where I’m supposed to be
Mood: convinced
Music: think of what it might have been

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Blogarama - Observations Blogs

It all fades to black, Pt 2

Even though I knew

It all fell apart, two years ago today. I remember writing this, hoping for a miracle that never came.


I was alone but heard a female yell out my name in my apartment the other day.

I ran out of my room and yelled, “Alison?” even though I knew she was gone.

I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that. I do believe in auditory hallucinations caused by insomnia and copious amounts of self-medication. Yet, it seemed so real.

This is my life these days. Most days are ok. Some actually good, like when the boy and Mouse are here. Some are bad. Some are horrible.

This was a horrible day. I screamed in my blue bathroom, like I always do.

I have no plans to hurt myself. Instead, I plan on just going on a massive bender; apologies to my liver and those that will be running into me this weekend.

Still…I’m tired. I’d like to rest.

But, I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

The boy: Why do you (imitates a sighing sound)?
Me: I’m sorry. Papa’s just tired.
Him: You need to rest.
Me: (nodding) I will. One day, I’ll rest. But not for a while, ok?
Him: Ok! (looking at me) Are you sad?
Me: (smiles) What do I have to be sad about? I have you. That’s silly.
Him: (laughs) That’s silly. Silly, papa.
Me: (nods, turns away)

Stop all the clocks,
Cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky, the message: “He is dead!”
Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves.
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my north, my south, my east and west,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Location: the bottom of my staircase and of a bottle of rum
Mood: hollowed-out
Music: Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

It all fades to black, Pt 1

All the bonuses you didn’t want

 

Friday will be exactly two years since Alison left.  It’s hard for me to comprehend. She’s forever young.

No one wants to be forever young this way.

In those two years, I’ve dreamt of Alison exactly once. It was a late last year and I wanted to keep it to myself and tell you when the time was right. Suppose that’s today.

I dreamt that it was this day. and I was here/here, which is Bethesda Fountain in Central Park.

In the dream – and in real life – we were running late to a wedding. She told me to hurry up and walked down the steps leading to Bethesda Fountain and I ran after her.

She turned to smile at me one last time before disappearing around a bend. Stuck behind a crowd, I ran after her but she was gone.

I ran down the stairs and looked for her, then up again, then back down again. I never saw her again.

Then I woke up and plead to a god I don’t believe in to let me go back.

And I got the same fucking answer I always do.

It’s the same answer everyone gets.

People don’t seem to get it.

It wasn’t just Alison that died that day; my family died that day. All the hopes and dreams she and I talked about for so long, died that day. Everything we thought would be, died that day.

All our big dreams and little dreams died with her.

You know, something she talked about all the time when she was pregnant was how excited she was to push a stroller and hold a goddamn cup of coffee in the Upper West Side. She never got the chance.

How fucked up is that?

Losing alla that’s just bonus you get for free with the death of someone you love. It’s all bonus for shit you didn’t want in the first place.

Almost everything you ever loved dies all-at-fucking once.

Just like that. Poof. It all fades to black.

Location: hell again
Mood: hollowed-out
Music: So many dreams swinging out of the blue. Oh, let it come true
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

The Superpower

Taking Mice for Granted

This woman named Jo Cameron was born with two genetic mutations:

      1. A different FAAH gene, which reduces her ability to feel pain, both physical and emotional;
      2. A defective FAAH-OUT gene, whose sole purpose is to activate the FAAH gene.

Essentially, she feels no pain, no anxiety. She cannot suffer. She broke her arm when she was eight years old and only went to the doctor three days later because her arm looked funny. When she gave birth, it tickled her.

She’s a mutant with a superpower.

When I was a kid, outta all the superpowers, the one I wanted the most was the ability to become invisible. I think most bullied kids would welcome the ability to disappear and not be noticed.

But, after these past few years – barring time travel and/or the ability to detect and destroy cancer – I think that the superpower I’d like the most is Jo’s power.

Because, man, do I get people being hooked on painkillers.

This week/month has been a rollercoaster of emotional pain. Both from Alison and the Gymgirl. The kind where I’m sitting down on my shower floor hyperventilating.

I actually do have to take painkillers to manage it. That’s how severe it’s been. The insomnia’s back too, because, of course it’s back…

I’d like to tell you more about the Gymgirl but now’s not really the right time.

I will say that she floored me the other night because we hadn’t spoken for a while. And when we did, she said I took her for granted. That’s the last thing I would do.

Then again, I’ve always said that communication is what the other side hears, not what you say.

It’s my fault if she somehow heard that she wasn’t that important.

Her: (dismissively) I’m just a placeholder in your life.
Me:  (shaking head) That’s precisely the opposite of what you are. You’re not even a front-runner; you’re the only game in town.

That placeholder bit kept me up all night because it’s so far left field. I didn’t really fully appreciate the depth of what she was saying until I was alone in bed.

The worst things creep into my head in the middle of the night because it’s when the world and my thoughts quiet down. And I start to understand things.

I’m trying to wrap my head around everything but, FWIW, I was trying to do the right thing by her but it turned out that I did exactly the opposite of what she wanted me to do.

To top it all off, afterward, I behaved in a way that I’m not proud of and I’m disappointed in myself. It was rough all around.

I should remember that this never happens when I drink rum. But that’s neither here nor there.

There’s more, but that’s all I wanted to say for now.

That, and, should she and I exit each other’s Venn Diagram, you can still keep up with her wit and charm by following her blog: Melee Mouse/Mouse in the City.

Me: Hurry up, we’re gonna be late!
Mouse: We? You’re gonna be late. I’m gonna be a pleasant surprise.

She was my pleasant surprise in all this shit. I thought she knew.

On that note, I’m just going to call her Mouse here from this point forward, for however long that is.

Because the only reason I used Gymgirl instead of Mouse, which is what everyone calls her, was because of our inappropriately possessive ex-coach and his insane jealousy, which is a whole ‘nother story for another time.

Location: home
Mood: uncertain
Music: Oh, I guess I should have told her; I thought she knew

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Blogarama - Observations Blogs

Hitting the button

©Lauren Herschel

Closure is a myth

Was planning on just going on a bender this past weekend because the kid was supposed to go with ABFF to NJ for a cancer walk. Unfortunately/fortunately, he got sick.

The Gymgirl’s upset with me for reasons I don’t fully understand.

But I will say that, after not speaking for a week or two, I asked her to watch him because there was something I had to do on Saturday morning (which I’ll tell you about some other time).

She came, no questions asked, and left as soon as I was back. She even made coffee and brought me some rum. And wrote a lovely note to me, the kid, and Alison, to boot.

Like I said, a boy could fall for a girl like that.

Some friends came by later on that night, I think they were worried about my being alone.

Him: What do you have to drink?
Me: Rum. And cinnamon whiskey.
Him: (groans) So, what’s going on with you and the Gymgirl?
Me: I’m not sure.
Him: You should try to work it out.
Me: (laughing) You just like her, which makes sense. But she’ll make her decisions and I’ll respect them.

Drinks at The Aviary in NYC

Her: So, how was your Mother’s Day?

People keep asking me how I was this past weekend, so lemme start by telling you that – over the past two years – I’ve met a number of people that make offhanded comments about my needing closure from what happened.

Sociologist Nancy Berns wrote a book on it and said, “It’s not the dominant narrative in research in bereavement, but it is in popular culture. Those who are working with people who are grieving tend to be less likely to use the concept.”

In other words, “closure” is a word used by those that never dealt with true grief.

I met a lot of people the past couple of years that characterized Alison and my father’s death almost like a high school breakup, where one needs closure to be alright.

You’re never alright watching the people you love adore die. There’s no closure, no peace.

Robin Williams said, in Good Will Hunting, You don’t know about real loss, ’cause it only occurs when you’ve loved something more than you love yourself.

I remember wanting to grab this person and telling her:

It’s not like when Jimmy broke up with you in eighth grade, Cathy. Why don’t you watch two people you love more than yourself suffer and die slowly – for years – and then talk to me about what I need?

On the flipside, my brother sent me what may be the best explanation of grief I’ve ever read/heard from a blogger named Lauren Herschel, who was, in turn, quoting her psychiatrist.

She said that grief is like having a box with a pain button on the inside and a large ball in that box. In the beginning, every movement causes the ball to hit the button and course pain throughout your body.

I thought I’d share the Ball in the Box analogy my Dr told me pic.twitter.com/YfFT26ffU8

Over time, the ball gets smaller and still bounces around inside the box; it hits the button less, but when it does, the pain is just as crippling as ever.

That’s the truest description of pain/loss/grief I’ve ever read, versus closure, which is teenage angst horseshit.

I’m fine most of the time and most days. But, when I’m alone in my apartment, I’ll just randomly scream. Legit, scream.

My neighbors must think I’m a madman.

But that’s what happens when the grief button is hit. You fall to your knees and you scream.

I’m on my knees less these days. But it’ll never fully goes away.

Anyway, my Sunday was spent drinking, hitting that goddamn button, and screaming.

So, that’s how my Sunday was.

Me: (shrugging) Oh, you know, the usual…

Location: the gym, trying to sober up
Mood: hell
Music: I can never get over the love
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Mother’s Day / Alison’s Birthday: A mother’s love for her child…

…is like nothing else in the world

Me: (to Steel) When did you get married? I’m looking for a picture I took of Alison that day. For some reason it’s stuck in my head.
Him: August 28, 2009
Me: (later) God, I found it. Thanks.

Alison and I went to my buddy’s wedding around the way a decade ago and she wanted to walk in comfort there. She changed her shoes right before we went in because she always liked to be put together in public.

Dunno why I thought of that pic. Just did. Finding it was some form of relief.

Her birthday is this Sunday. It also happens to be Mother’s Day. I expect to be pretty messed up this weekend.

She woulda been 40, which is such a kick in the head. I remember throwing her that surprise birthday party for her 30th birthday.

Man, I cannot express how writing all this affects me. It’s like someone hits my chest with a sledgehammer. It was a lifetime ago.

But I digress.

This isn’t actually a post about Alison; it’s actually about her mom.

You see, her mom stayed with us every single day Alison was sick. Every. Single. Goddamn. Day.

She was at Alison’s side at the very end because I couldn’t be. I couldn’t fucking do it. I was too weak to say goodbye.

I’m too weak even now. My knees shake just thinking about it.

Her mom: I worry about your drinking so much. Does it really make you feel better?
Me: For a bit. Just for a bit.

Yet, her mom endured saying goodbye to her daughter. As a father, I have no idea how she did that. I can’t even bear the thought of it.

She endured everything I endured and more. I am quietly humbled and forever grateful for her and her love for Alison.

Agatha Christie once said, A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things, and crushes down, remorselessly, all that stands in its path.

Holy shitballs, that’s her mom in a sentence (or three).

Actually, that’s my mom too – and how she handled herself with my dad. But that’s another entry.

Speaking of my dad, he told me, just before he died, to always be kind to Alison’s mom and to never take the boy from her.

Me: I would never. But why?
Him: (sighing) Because, she’s a mother that lost her child. Whatever you feel you’ve lost, whatever anyone feels they’ve lost, she’s lost more. Whatever pain you think you have – and I know you have a lot – she has more. She gave you Alison, you’ll always have a debt to her for that.
Me: I know. (nodding) You should rest.

It was one of the last things he said to me and it crushed me because the truth is a powerful thing. The power of the truth crushes things, that’s what it does.

I write her at least every other day about the kid. Because Alison woulda talked to her at least as much. I wanted to give her back a tiny sliver of what she lost.

It’s my little way of saying thank you for being so strong when I couldn’t be.

Alison would have been the best mother and I know what I do pales in comparison, as she would have loved this kid in ways I never could.

Cause a mother’s love is like nothing in the world – my dad knew this, Agatha knew this, and I know this.

Especially someone like Alison, who wanted this kid more than anything else in the world. She loved him even before he was born. Everything she suffered to survive the cancer – and you cannot fathom the pain she went through – she did for him.

But she’s not here. So, with her mom’s help, I do what I can to raise the boy as she woulda wanted. It’s not her but it’s the best we’ve got.

Him: I love you, Papa.
Me: That’s good, because I love you!
Him: (thinking) And mommy too.
Me: (sighing, nodding) You should. Because to know her is to love her.
Him: (staring at me) Are you ok, daddy?
Me: (nodding) Of course. I have you. (hugging him) And stop calling me “daddy.”

Location: alone in my apartment, with some cinnamon whiskey
Mood: drinky
Music: I can’t believe she’s gone
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Dear Nate… 004: Understanding is gold

Defending something you didn’t choose

Dear Nate;

It’s May so I spend a lotta time thinking of your mama.

This fella named Nilesh Jain once said, “Five minutes after your birth, they decide your name, nationality, religion, sect, and you spend rest of your life defending something you didn’t choose.”

I’ve always felt that everyone is who they are because of the parents to whom they were born.

For good or bad, you either inherit your parents views or rebel against them. Don’t know which path you’ll choose but I hope you understand why I live my life as I do.

I chase understanding, not knowledge. Friends, not fortune. Meaning, not entertainment.

There’s a saying called, “Tiger Parents,” where Asian parents push their children for success through any means necessary. To a large extent, I’m the result of tiger parents.

But I don’t want that for you. I want something greater for you: Not knowledge but understanding.

I look at my role in your life as your guard and instructor. My job is to protect you so that I have time to show you what I know and hope you find some wisdom in it.

My life is full of instructors: Uncles Chad and Agapito teach me violence but are some of kindest souls I know. Uncle Aki is the single smartest human being I’ve ever met, yet uses that brilliance to help others, including us.

You see, we are all the average of the five people we spend the most time with so I make sure to spend time with those that can instruct me. Because they bring value to me, so that I can bring value to you.

I don’t want you to root for a team because you happen to be born in that team’s city, or – even worse – hate someone else because they were born in a different city. Or to different parents.

That’s beyond worthless in my eyes and, I hope, with time, your eyes as well.

Understanding lets you maximize the valuable and minimize the worthless. And none of us are here very long so the sooner you can separate the wheat from the chaff, the better.

If most people aren’t here very long, your mama was here for just a beautiful moment in time. But she died knowing things. Things she told me that I will tell you because they made my life richer and will do the same for you.

For all this, I also hope you grow up enjoying frivolous things, because there’s joy in the ability to be extravagant.

But knowing that something is frivolous makes it ok; thinking that the unimportant is important is not.

To collect gold, you have to know what is tin. Because, you see, you don’t get gold by making it; you get gold by washing away everything that’s not gold.

The self-made wealthy are wealthy because of what they eschew, not because of what they acquire.

We’re all given 24 hours here; what you do with it plots out your life, minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour, day-by-day.

If you’re lucky, you’ll have 26,280 days here. Use them wisely. Surround yourself with kind and knowledgeable instructors.

Speaking of luck, you’re my son – and Alison McCarthy’s son – by pure luck. For us, it was the best possible kind. For you, only time will tell if it was good or bad.

I hope it’s the former but luck, and life, is what you make of it.

In the end, I don’t want you to be some imitation of me. I want you to be better than me.

Love,

Papa

Him: (randomly) We don’t have a mommy at home.
Me: (pause) No, we don’t.
Him: Is she stuck?
Me: No. Papa misspoke.
Him: Where is she?
Me: She’s…she died.
Him: She died? Why?
Me: She got sick.
Him: She got sick? Will she feel better?
Me: I don’t…no. She won’t. But I’ll tell you all about her because I was her best friend and she was mine. (clears throat) OK?
Him: (laughs) OK!

Dear Nate… 001
Dear Nate… 002: Wait and wish
Dear Nate… 003: Rain happens

Location: Central Park West and W 72nd, crossing the street
Mood: unhappy
Music: Not enough time for all that I want for you
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Logan’s 46: The Guard dies

…it does not surrender


It’s my birthday today.

I remember for years that I used to say, Wish me a Happy Birthday, alla you bastards that read me and never say anything.

The last time I said that was 2014, before everything went to hell.

This year, I pour out my soul to you with a simple admission: After Alison died, three words kept ringing in my addled head over-and-over again: The Guard dies.

The Guard dies.
The Guard dies.
The Guard dies.

I said those three words to myself hundreds thousands of times after she died. I would fall asleep to those words in my head and wake up to them as well.

I plotted for months on how to do it the right way, if there could ever be such a thing.

Because, I promised her parents and you that I would keep her safe. And I failed.

I failed you. I failed her parents. And, most unbearably of all, I failed her.

Failure has a price and I’ve always been driven to pay my debts.

There’s an apocryphal story about the Old French Guard during the Battle of Waterloo when the Middle Guard turned and ran, a solider from the Old Guard asked the general if they should run as well.

The general replied, La Garde meurt, elle ne se rend pas.

The Guard dies, it does not surrender.

In my drug/alcohol/grief/anger-fueled haze, I only remembered the first part.

Alison was my charge and I failed her so it was only fitting that I follow her. Because, wherever she went, I was always close behind.

It’s remarkably selfish and self-centered, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly then.

But, due to a number of interesting bureaucratic twists and people like my mother-in-law, my father, Daisy, Gradgirl, and – of course – the Gymgirl, the fog slowly lifted.

And I remembered the boy. I am so ashamed to say that I forgot him in my grief.

Well, more appropriately – in my head – he was better off with people that were functioning, and I was clearly not functioning.

Moreover, I was so focused on Alison needing me that I didn’t really consider that he needed me.

Interestingly, the thing that really pulled me out of this mindset was a conversation with my mother-in-law one day. She said that I needed to raise the boy and that she would help but that he was my responsibility. I suspect she had some idea where my mind was.

In any case, that triggered a memory of a conversation that Alison and I once had: She told me that, if we were ever in an accident and I was given the option to save her or the child, she would never forgive me if I saved her.

And that, in turn, caused me to remember the rest of the quote: … it does not surrender. That’s when I realized that leaving would be surrender, not staying.

I lost my charge. But she had a charge too, one that she cared about more than herself: The boy. So, even if he weren’t my son, he would still be my charge because he was Alison’s.

Because she loved him more than anything, including her own life.

The boy’s given me something as well: A chance for me to redeem myself and my failure.

Essentially, the general was saying that the Guard does not run or surrender to overwhelming odds. It either does its job or dies trying. Like Alison did.

I’m 46 today. If ever there was an Old Guard, it’s me.

And the Old Guard does not surrender.

Him: Will you come get me today? From school?
Me: Of course. What am I gonna do, leave you there? That’d be silly.
Him: (laughs) That’d be silly! You’re silly, papa.
Me: (nodding) Yes.

Location: this afternoon, my blue bathroom, thinking of my possible pasts
Mood: heartbroken
Music: I’ve lost my place. I’m close behind
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Speaking toddler

Can you hear me?


We’ve all been sick so I put on Singing in the Rain for the Gymgirl and the kid.

Him: (after opening credits) It’s over…
Me: It just started!

On that note, the Gymgirl and I have been having a competition of sorts as to who understands toddler more.

Him: (unintelligible)
Me: What?
Her: He said he was done and wanted to watch television.
Me: How on earth did you get that?
Her: (shrugs) You’re old. He and I are closer in age. We speak the same language.

Actually, the boy speaks with some interesting turns of phrases:

When the boy was in his room: I’m here if you need me.
When I gave the boy a time out: Let’s talk about this.
When heading to school: Are we running late?

Again, he’s three years old.

Suppose he’s parroting myself, the Gymgirl, or some other adult. Still, it really floors me because there was a time I was worried he wouldn’t speak at all.

Although he did leave me speechless the other day.

Him: (gets a stool and climbs to the top) Mom! Mom! Mommy! Can you hear me?
Me: Wha…what are you doing, kiddo?
Him: I wanted to see what happens.
Me: Oh. OK. (pause) I’m sorry, kid.
Him: (laughing) Why are you sorry?
Me: No reason. I just am. (smiling) Cm’on. I gotta start dinner. Keep me company.

It’s April.

Me: I hate April and May.
The Gymgirl: May, I understand. But why April?
Me: It’s stupid but it’s because I know May is coming right up. Our birthdays were just about a month apart. I dread my birthday because I know we’re that much closer to May.
Her: (nods, puts her hand on my shoulder)

Location: 2:30PM today, Central Park with the boy
Mood: anxious
Music: used to talk with honest conviction
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.