✈️ LA / NYC 🎓 NYU Tisch
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Thank you, Edward Hirsch, for somehow putting my dad and his love and all my gentle misery into your poem. It is an ultimate saving grace. @samalaleary and I found this poem together just before Christmas. We were meant to discover it together. And today when I walked into the Strand in a desperate attempt to find it in book form, there was only one beaten up, worn copy available in the store, stacked small in the wrong section. I know it was meant for me to find. How I miss you, daddy. How amazing it is to find you wherever I go. 4329
2017, let's be real. You sucked. You sucked so hard. I laugh about you as a way to cope. Haha, America is a fallacy. Haha, I am severely depressed. Haha, I am desperately, wholly terrified for my future. I will say, when I remember you, that you were the hardest year of my adult life: that I went to bed crying, often. That I felt alone. That you brought me so close to my dreams, then took them away: that you put fear in my heart, fear I never thought I'd have- that I naively thought I was exempt from. I was not exempt from you. I was not exempt from the doubt that you instilled like a dazzling pit in my stomach, that glistened with wet teeth. But you showed me the person I wanted to be. You showed me what I needed to let go of. So I quit every survival job that made me feel as small and as unimportant as dust, and packed up all my things. I moved everything I own into a gift of a shoebox of an apartment in the middle of Manhattan herself. I am softly learning how to outsmart you. So. 2018. I will not expect anything of you. I will simply look at the line I drew in the sand, the line between there and somewhere better, and vow to cross it. I have seen all the things that make me ashamed of being alive. And I have vowed to banish them from my story. I will ask you for the little things: for sunshine and soft music, for birdsong and fresh berries in the morning, for Christmas lights and coffee shops and my mom's laughter ringing through our wooden house. I ask that you give me the feeling I felt when I was little and watched actresses onstage, when I was young and I blew out sparkly birthday candles, when I was tall and I took everything I needed to New York City, and when I was grown, and looked at the Eiffel Tower shining bright along the water. I ask that you see me proud of myself, forgiving of myself, a candle glowing into a flame. I ask that you guide me into your winter with all of the ease and grace and kindness of an old friend. I know now, what I am capable of. And I will do more than survive you. #CrossingABridge
Pull back the jeweled curtain in our house, and there we are, still playing and laughing in another life behind it. Somewhere, behind the veil, in our living room, today and yesterday exist at the same time - there are lunch boxes and backpacks to be packed, doll houses to organize, deep dress pockets full of my neighbor's chocolates- there are three settings on the table, and the Christmas lights that glisten in the window might have been hung by a shadow. The floorboards are creaking, and my mother's robe is dragging behind her. My daddy is calling to me. When I shuffle out of my bedroom, sometimes it feels like he might be sitting there- that the world of shadow and life will be split in two, and the us that was we will form. Sometimes I hear the workers hammering in the backyard, but I always swear it might be you. Forever, you are the smell of eggs cooking atop the stove. You are the sound the coffee maker makes, a boat engine roaring to life on the marina; you are the leaves in the trees that are raked into big piles, you are the audience and the sky and the birds you saved for me, the mustache of the man I don't know swirling sugar into his coffee. And you are this house, where there was once Barney and crayons and bath toys, costumes and tutus and hot cocoa. The wood of the porch and the sound of the swing, pause. I see sometimes on Christmas, that you are sitting with us in that room, your big hands tying tiny bows. You have told me you believed the fairytale. You are calling out my name. You are waiting there for us. Merry Christmas from another life.