I lost my page again: letters to NY.

Dear Brooklyn,

It's strange how I've already forgotten your face and the way you sound. The different tones of you- happy, upset, confused, jealous, caffeinated, drunk, busy, angry. . . all of these details and many more have fallen into this pit that I have thrown the memory of you in, not purposefully- but with time. I wasn't ready to stow away these moments, these city sounds, the ringtone, the voice, and the face. You.

I miss shark the necklace I bought from your flea market, or the rusty metal letters I bought for one dollar a piece that spelled out "HOME" in different colors. I miss our conversations of grocery store honeydew and pad thai excursions. I miss the way you breathed my name into the phone late that one evening, bated and longingly.

I miss the people that walked on your streets, young and fashionable, and happy, or at least happy looking. Healthy. Beautiful. Dedicated. Creative, and maybe sometimes, lonely.

I miss the woman with dark hair who told me, "you look like you belong here" and envy her strongly at the same time. I miss your weather, always cooler than the air here, and the four seasons of which Florida lacks two of.

I miss you telling me of your friends, and how they'd love to meet me, and I'd agree because I'd love to meet them, too.

I miss you telling me to come be your muse.

I forgot your body, the length of your fingertips, or your button nose. Your accent. Your smile.

I forgot what it was like to wait underground for the train to the city and lose all service, every connection to the world above.

And you- I think you've forgotten me, too.

And it will be as if we never met on those slick city streets in the rain.

Florida never met New York.

Gainesville never had the chance to enjoy Brooklyn.

Hope all is well, and the fall air is falling lightly, coolly, on your eyelashes and graffitied buildings.

Sincerely,

Gainesville

under a biological influence.

fate plays no role and the stars know

nothing

our eyes do not meet

and our fingertips print different

constellations

opposing

from all those love songs

our DNA chromosomes do not match

like

puzzles pieces

it may last infinitely

though
not forever

like in the movies

but

your smile reflects mine

my hand disappears in yours

we admire the same moon

and

bleed the same color

and we were in the same place at the same time

colliding

fate plays no role and the stars know

nothing

tell my mother all the things I couldn't tell her

Dear Mom,

She held the glass of wine in her hand delicately, but firmly, while talking to me. Her short blonde hair looked like something out of an expensive salon advertisement, glistening and falling to the side every time she turned her face towards me to smile. I don't think I have seen her since the divorce, since my dark years, and since yours, too. Her eyes lit up.

"Lauren, you look so pretty! You're all grown up now!"

My cousin-in-law looked at me and took a deep breath. What she told me came from deep down inside her- something that had been lingering for awhile- and this was her chance to finally release it.

She told me she missed you. She told me she used to have so much fun with you, that you two were "best friends". She misses your trips, your wacky moments, your Sex in The City like conversations. She said I smiled just like you. When she saw your picture, mom, she said you looked pretty, and you looked happy.

I looked at her and could tell there was so much more she wanted to say. But I didn't press the subject. Instead I did what you're supposed to do and asked about her kids- they're so grown up now. We exchanged a few more words, naturally, and then I hugged her goodbye.

"Tell your mom I miss her."

I smiled and really meant it.

"I will."

Love,

Lauren

Ps. I'm sorry I didn't tell you she was in town. You weren't ready yet.

One month later: letters to NY

Dear New York,

One month ago from tonight, we collided at some old bar that my aunt favored over the rest of New York City's fine selection. You walked in with your friends and we made eye contact; after that, I don't think we ever stopped. I don't know if you remember, but I do- every minute, every feeling that arose, and every blush that tinted my face. I felt like I was on fire, not even having to look up to be aware that you were watching me- I just knew. On a rainy night in Manhattan, we stained the city streets with our wet feet, the brick buildings and concrete stoops with our drenched backs, the city air with our bated breath. So consumed we were with each other, losing our train of thought and time, losings our minds. Yellow cabs kept driving by, drunk girls continued to fall in their heels, and there was a deadly scream in the air- life continued to go on around us, and at our eye level, it was undisturbed. Stuck in the moment, because that was all we had.

Time stopped but the rain never did.

The next day it was still coming down, as if the sunlight didn't want me to forget the boy I spent my entire last night of New York with. Little did I know you couldn't forget me either or that for the next few weeks we'd talk incessantly.

Little did I know somebody over a thousand miles away could make me so happy, and at the same time, make me so depressed. I was enthralled about the idea of us happening, and so upset with the reality of the situation: we couldn't happen.

One month later, I'm coming to terms with it. We weren't meant to be. Fate played no cards in this. It was just something that happened to occur. Something that momentarily was perfect.

All we had is that night, and almost lover, I think it's all we'll ever have.

Ps. Call me if you ever make it to Sarasota. I'll be here.

Sincerely,

Florida.

in chaos I found you, and then in you, I found chaos

I'm sitting at my favorite local coffee shop surrounded by college students and Gainesvilles finest dreamers. They all sit alone, or with an acquaintance, quiet or talkative, lonely or happily grouped, reading books, surfing the web, or smoking a cigarette subtly sipping their coffee every few minutes with darting eyes.

I look around and observe that I am the only one with a chocolate chip cookie- they're the best. I wish someone else would try one on a whim and become hooked like I did my first time.

Every time a new person walks up in search of outside seating (sitting inside is just stupid on such a rare, breezy, beautiful day here), I look up as if I'm waiting to see somebody. I feel anxious every time a different body comes into view of my peripheral vision.

Who or what am I waiting for?

I hope that it's not him. I hope I'm not sitting here waiting for the first person who brought me here to just randomly show up, alone, and maybe looking for me, too.

Things like that just don't happen, though in movies and books it's almost natural for such occurrences to magically enfold.

I'll say it again, like I have many times before, the feeling of hope New York brought me approximately a month ago leaving me naked of the phrase,

"these things just happen."

No, they don't.

At least they don't happen here, or happen to me.

It smells like fall is arriving in the air today, at last.

Please stay, and continue to enlighten and remind me that time is passing.

Life is going on.