They say when a door closes a window opens,
I stare out a second floor window on a floor full of exit signs and yet no way out.
Baby steps, I remember, and try to wear a smile and keep my laughter unguarded, protecting my heart.
Maybe I’m not meant to be given a window.
Maybe I’m meant to make my own.
The Things I Carry, Part 3
I wonder why the phrase is I suffer
When it really should be I live
I have to learn to be okay with being a little broken
I have to take my time to heal and know my heart will never be the same.
We are meant to survive what we are given
So I say I live and not I suffer
Because to live with it means it is part of me
But I am part of it
I’ll go back and forth and sit with it
That’s all this is, it’s life
I will learn to love it
The sun showers down Delancey Street.
I pull my hood up and look to the sky, remember my mother’s words,
There is a rainbow somewhere, even if you can’t see it.
I am not perfect, this day is not perfect, and one sun shower is never the solution to the things I carry with me to East Ninth Street every Tuesday,
So I remember how I am a mix of things that shouldn’t go together but somehow find a home,
The sun and the rain and the sky,
The beautiful promise that the world isn’t ending under my fingertips.
The sun showers down Delancey Street and I smile in its warmth and glow.
It isn’t raining anymore
The sky stays cloudy, the air is cold.
East Ninth Street is still wet.
Birds chirp and this feels like a sign from the universe,
The storm is beginning to end.
It’s been months.
Too much time since hearing your voice on the phone,
Your hands across from mine.
There are too many complications on the table tonight.
Just for an evening in the summer, let these butterflies in my heart be right.