There is nothing sadder than an old love letter, except perhaps an old love letter that was never meant to be a love letter.
Going back through a journal is always a revealing way to revisit a period of your life. I’ve never been a diary kind of person. Even with this blog, I rarely write this kind of post, the ‘what happened to me today,’ type. But looking through this most recently completed journal was very strange. A little sad.
In less than a week, I will fly out of Nashville on my way to Seattle. But before I hit the Emerald City, I'm taking a detour through the Windy City. As you know, Chicago was my previous city, a city that encompasses all that I love about urban living. Getting a chance to return … Continue reading A Return Trip
This coming of age story lacks for maturity and protagonists We are you and not I We are I and bottom shelf whiskey, kissing slovenly like young lovers Sickly romantic, I’m depressing my fellow drunks In my solitude If there is safety in numbers, you must be secure as Fort Knox Almost got away with … Continue reading The Spilt Milk Blues
You sleep long hours, Bethany and dream of almost nothing In waking chills you smell the calm sea like martyrs’ singing blood You return, you return, and again, you return to hollow, filthy beds Now, once more, at living peace you tell fables of your decency You write short letters, Bethany of love, of need, … Continue reading Bethany