nostalgia

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Funny, isn’t it? How a place can hold so much meaning in our minds? A smell can make us cry, a crack in the sidewalk can take us back in time. A certain rock shaped like a chair, or a ferris wheel that spins too fast. All brush strokes in this dizzying abstract we paint over the course of our lives.

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Sometimes an entire town can wrap itself around us, weaving in and out of our pasts with a whole myriad of “times.” Good ones, bad ones, insignificant tiffs, overwhelming laughs. The little spot on the rocks where you told someone a big secret, the rocking chair where you said your first goodbye. Even as you watch the waves approach and retreat, though you know they are disappearing, it’s tempting to hang on to their imaginary immortality. Nostalgia likes to perceive perpetuality, even in the bold face of nature, as you stand in awe of her constant change.

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It’s an indulgent pursuit, to seek sources of nostalgia. Despite this awareness of our intentions, nostalgia’s captivating ruse can pull us in. The remarkable ability to find familiarity in something actually quite foreign; to chase a time long past. The human mind plays all kinds of pretty tricks, if you are willing to let go and let her.

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saltwater nymph

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circe can’t go home
oceanid with holographic hair
her formation is terrestrial
every cell hails de la mer

saltwater nymph
imprisoned in her own shell
destined to sway the unwilling
to hold them in her hell

historically avoided
her plea silent like the sea
to be requited is to be understood;
to be understood is to be free

tormented temptress
neither goddess nor goodness, she waits
for the creature who will create her
the only one who holds two fates

circe can’t stay home
her liquid lips must rise
to meet her lightning lover
in the heavy-handed skies

-rainy days in providence inspiring greek mythology poems

to brooklyn and back

A few quick days in the big citaaay.

Musing on getting lost, vulnerability, and finding familiarity in the foreign. There’s something oddly thrilling about being anonymous. Walking through the streets nameless, meeting baristas who do not know your usual, window shopping strange storefronts. Camp and Matisse, ocean eyes and a polka dotted dress, fig gelato and getting caught in the rain. Plans thrown out the window and plants left on the windowsill. Dreams that feel real and real that hums dream.

I came home minus my old phone, but plus a new little gold loop on my finger. Stacked with my precious “amis” ring, my left hand is singing a whole new song, and I’m into it. :)

I also came home with pages of notes and the start of a possible book (!). Now all that’s left to do is write, write, write. And that’s my Saturday night, friends.

soulmates

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Ah. You know those weekends that feel like 4 days rolled into one? The weekends you just want to keep living in? Nothing like an impromptu best friends trip to Boston to make you feel grateful and free.

We drove ourselves up to Boston to witness the ever beautiful Kathleen Breen Combes retire from the stage. With this bittersweet bow comes an exciting new chapter, as Kathleen will become FBP’s Executive Director in the fall! Feeling so excited to have such a powerful role model coming our way, and a wonderful, welcomed addition to the FBP family, of course.

 

And now, some thoughts from the weekend…

There are parts of yourself that you can’t find reflected in the bubbled bottom of a bottle of wine, or the ice chips squeezing final sips of diluted gin. They are not in the wrinkled petals of your favorite flower, nor are they looking up at you from the intricate tiles of a trendy café floor. Don’t look for these bits of you in the mirror- not even a peculiar room with entirely mirrored walls and amber shells- your questions will be as if unheard. Turn instead to your friends. In unrelenting laughter that rolls from your belly and bursts from your lips, in words never spoken but exchanged through subtle movements in brows, in tears caught before they leave your cheeks. In the strange desire to eat, drink, walk, sit, talk, the same things at the same time. Every time. This is where your essence lives, where your spirit rests, where you are truly whole. Soulmates, they come in so many forms.

surprising

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I don’t know yet what I don’t know, but I do know this: Everyone ever will always surprise you eventually.

It won’t happen at every turn, and it won’t always happen when you least expect it. Sometimes it will be completely out of the blue, sometimes it will confirm a lingering suspicion, but this premonition won’t make your surprise any less, well, surprising.

As humans, we like to put people into neat little boxes. He’s a “bro.” She is “good.” He’s an artist, so he will never be truly emotionally available; She never met her father, so she will always feel damaged. We put people in boxes, on shelves, in tidy compartments with classifications and we predict their futures by reading into their pasts. But the catastrophe of shock is certain, because there is no instruction manual for the human existence.

I’ve spent the past 4 years contemplating the existence of a higher power, but regardless of this inconclusive search, it seems that each life is composed of a series of decisions. Whether these decisions lead to actions that “happen for a reason” or are completely random becomes irrelevant to this conversation, because it does not change the sole thesis that: Everyone ever will always surprise you eventually. And this includes you.

Often times our most surprising selves surface in the wake of shock caused by someone close to us. A person we think we know sets off a surprise chain with some “uncharacteristic” behavior and our reaction, our series of decisions in the cold, unrelenting wake of this surprise, can set a self-surprise into motion.

Of course, surprise doesn’t always come in the form of an action. Sometimes it comes early on, while semi-strangers are becoming friends. The casual reveal of an unexpected detail- something outside their tidy personality box- comes forward and scrambles our premature judgement. The classification conundrum.

In any and every case, though, people are surprising. And even in knowing this, you will be surprised. And that, my friends, is a beautiful promise.

pleased to meet you

 

Whats your name summer girl?
Will you stay until September comes?
And takes it’s sun from your blonde hair

Whose your type summer girl?
Who’ll hold you tight till the fall comes?
And your life takes you away

I remember seeing you
Before the summer sun touched your pale skin
And now you’re golden
And sitting round the fire with my friends

What’s your name summer girl?
Will you stay until September comes?
And your life takes you away

Whose your type summer girl?
Who’ll hold you tight till the fall comes?
And takes it’s sun from your blonde hair

All the lonely winter days

Crust and brake around like autumn waves
And Massachusetts Bays
And get cast out to sea and gone for good

Who’s your love?
Where will you go when September comes?
And brings your body back to him

Walk with me summer girl
Walk with me till the sun comes
And takes the night, our world, away

Summer Girl, Family of The Year

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to whom it may concern

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looking for advice?

please, let me advise.

might I suggest

you prioritize?

or better yet,

just reorganize

your values

your thoughts

your should

and should not’s

your stomach

“in knots”

your “can you please stop?” ‘s

now I’m changing the locks

and cutting mine, too

and all that was once so precious to you

it’s no longer yours

so when your heart pours

do not open my doors

do not beg on my floors

don’t show your heart’s halves

cleaved to have-not’s from have’s

you know, some scars surface

and some stay inside

but next time yours itches

remember, I tried

now leave me my pride

I’m changing the tide

not one tear left to cry

so hear this now:

goodbye.