An Open Letter to the Man I (Still) Love

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It’s been over a year and a half since the last time we held hands. It’s not even the handholding that I miss most though. It’s not the interrupted conversation kisses, the lovemaking, or even the Thanksgivings up in Oregon with your family. It’s the fact that I lost my best friend. That’s not me idealizing anything – that’s just the truth.

Time

time

I pulled out all of my old pictures this morning. Printed, not digital. Remember when we used to do that? Pick up our photos from Walgreens or Long’s or Costco. Remember the tangible? The things we could feel with both our hands and our hearts. I think I am addicted to nostalgia. So I look, knowing even the good times will hurt, too.

Stream of Consciousness

Home

Fallen leaves remind me of November in Portland. They are green now; they were red then. Angels danced in rainstorms, and lovemaking struck lightning. They stirred something in me, something familiar. Something kind of like hope. Something kind of like home.

Phoenix Rising: Release Date

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This past year, I signed with Creative Genius Publishing to work on releasing my first book. I spent the summer editing, developing a website, and rereading my manuscript countless times, so much so that the words took on a whole new meaning for me. I am thrilled and ever so appreciative of all of the support I have been given, from family, friends, and this community here on WordPress. Words will never be enough to express how grateful I am. I am also incredibly excited to announce that Phoenix Rising: Onward and Upward will be available in bookstores, through Amazon, and through my website come December 1, 2015.

Just Yesterday

Central Park

It was freezing this morning, and for whatever reason, it had me thinking about New York. And how it snowed in Central Park, such a brilliant white. I almost fell numerous times, and tree branches sparkled in the morning mist. Up and down the avenues we ventured, our breath dissolving before us. It took everything in me not to start a snowball fight with you – a spontaneous burst, like fallen stars and angel aura quartz. Clusters of flakes beneath Christmas trees of December 26. The paths were carved with flannel footprints and ice kisses. A piano playing softly when you took me into the Trump Building. And we scarfed down turkey burgers and ate so many sweet potato fries. And I couldn’t help but think what a sweet memory this would make someday.