Goodbyes, good lies, and God’s lies | An Excerpt

My grandmother passed away while I was out in the Scottish wilderness—when I was somewhere in the green among the hundreds of sheep in the northwest.

The signal was bad and I was on vacation, and I quickly realized there was no way I could get to an airport in time for the funeral. And my dad said, “it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to, it’s okay.”

When the darkness comes back | A draft

Suffering from anxiety and losing the one you love feels a lot like penance. And I can’t breathe; and please forgive me.

Draft 3.2 | An Excerpt

The darkness came first.

It came just as the train left Chancery Lane station, stopping before it reached St. Paul’s. In the tunnel we stayed, the morning rush to reach work before 9AM at its peak.

I’d Really Like to Stop Writing About You | Let’s Mend, September 2015

Things I want you to know

1. I used to fall asleep with your memory for a pillow every night, my heart handing out solutions to every single obstacle that prevented us from being together. But my soul, she stayed away. She knew I was the one who destroyed us. She knew the reason I kept writing was because being hurt so much, you just have to write about it. I just never thought about the way my words hurt you. I’m no Joan Didion, and these past 15 months were definitely not my Year of Magical Thinking. Time didn’t heal my heart or soul—it just kind of made them numb, making me feel like I’m in a dream and I’d really like to wake up now.

This is how I don’t miss you | Excerpt 1.1

I’d like to stop writing about you now.

A Prophecy of Alzheimer’s and You |Entropy Magazine, July 2015

My only thought for the entire two months before going home for a one-week vacation was, I’m going to eat so many gyros and souvlakia, it’s not even funny.

Writings #4

The first time I cried in public was when I was on the New York subway, and I had just turned 24. 

No more light | Draft 1.1

I’d like to stop writing about you now but I don’t know how to stop. My heart is getting smaller with each sunset. You’d think all the tiny pieces would allow someone else to slip in and take your place, but all it does is radiate your light, keeping everyone else away.

Work in Progress | Draft 1, Part II

The thing about the mechanics of our break up is that I’ve stopped asking why but I still don’t understand and I still see your beam as it enters my bedroom every night. And I know you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with and that’s the only thing I’m certain of—that, and the only thing I was ever really good at was loving you.

But I also hate that I still write about you. That I still write about The Light. That you is still you and not her or him or it. I hate you know whenever I write about you because there is no other you in my life—and never will.

While I may still hold onto hope, paddling towards my lighthouse, you’ll find someone else to hold you at night.

And while I’ll still be writing about you, they’ll have The Light right next to them, guiding them to my heaven.

Work in Progress | Draft #1.1

When I write about you, I call you ‘The Light.’

Because that’s how all of my darkness knew it had to stay away.