The Colors Between Time

November 22nd, 2023

Hello hello hello! It has been well over a week since I’ve written to you, and for that I apologize. A day can turn into two, and a weekend can turn into a week so quickly – if you let it. This past month, time evaded me. Hid from me. Tricked me. Played mind games with me and pitted me against myself. How rude! 


This month I’ve been sick. November always gets the best of me - humbles me. My body loves to remind me that I am in fact bound to my body. Like I write a check for my crooked comically crucible-esque apartment, I must pay rent to the body. Vitamins, water, movement, SLEEP, tea, stillness, and some sweets seem to be the chords of my lifeline these days.

 So here’s a friendly reminder: hydrate and seek the sun where you can find it!

—

It’s so easy to live without living sometimes. When I catch myself existing without realizing that I am existing, I get angry with myself. There is so much I miss. In a place like New York City, it is especially easy to lean into the behavior of an individual. Sometimes, I’ll feel myself physically snap out of my fast-paced trance. I’ll be scurrying to the train or to work, paranoid on the streets at night, or in lala land (Trader Joes), and I will stop in my tracks, halt my aimless stroll. I will look up and see each individual lifeline leaving their streak behind them as they mosey about, unaware of the person next to them. People paint the space with blues and reds of sadness and anger, or purples and oranges of curiosity and care just by existing. And the colors are brilliant!


The past couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to consciously notice the moments stitched into the hitches of life’s stream of consciousness. I look at the sky for a moment longer. I listen to a song twice. I pour extra milk in my tea. I smile at strangers whose eyes pull up from the sidewalk as they walk. I call my mom one two three times a day. I pray?

Here are some of the colors I’ve collected:

Yellow

She’s on the train 
from the airport to Manhattan
Windows of sun pour, warming 
her from December’s walk
Golden moment, time
she’s been craving for awhile
with her twang songs and early
plane rides 
from a home away 
to a home for today.

The woman next to her 
smells of shampoo and solidity.
The man across from her
 taps his shoe.

The morning can be kind
to you, you
know.
If you let it.
If you like sweet air and slow moves.

Gray

I smile when I see your church on 10th Street.

Navy

Even in the stillest of waters
you can see the spine
of the wave
back curvature 
mild breathes, softest rise
and
fall. 

White

I am on 3rd Street, and it’s about to snow. 
The air is full, and I don’t know. 
Maybe it’s tragic. 
Maybe I want to stay.

Orange

Ablaze in Prospect Park
and no one is terrified
of being alive.

Purple

I started making peanut butter toast
in the mornings, like my mother does.

Red

On the train, study a face!
A real human face!

Black

and it’s only this short existence
in which you will know
gravity and what it feels like
to look up at it all.