Deja-vu

We arrive at the airport. He opens the door for me and I am struck by the last bit of blistering cold I will have to endure. Well, for a little while, at least. He hands me my bags and our hands touch. He looks into my eyes, although I hide them with the darkest sunglasses I own, and says "I feel for what you're going through." I pause. I am shocked. I did not say a word besides to give my terminal number. I gave no signs. My eyes flood instantly. It seems impossible but I believe him. He does understand. And with that I grab my five pieces of luggage and stumble excitedly into the airport when suddenly like a tidal wave I am hit-deja-vu.

Encore

I have never been the kind of person who can be friends with an ex. Some really need to know that all is well between you. It's too painful to think someone who once meant so much is now nothing. I am not one of those people.

Hemingway said, (as discussed on my new favorite show Bored to Death) that the best way to get over a woman is to get another one. I practice this philosophy and it has always served me well. I don't get the not ready bit. You feel, you love, you live, you do. Don't waste time with second guessing because you don't get second chances. I have no regrets. The past is the past for a reason. My present is too wonderful and my future too bright to risk looking back and turning into a pillar of salt.

What I do believe in is reflection; learning from your past, possible mistakes. A great way that I exercise this is through poetry so I want to share this piece with my readers.

I Once Had A Man

I had a man once who let me believe I was perfect.
He made me feel like there was nothing wrong I could ever say, nothing wrong I could ever do.
He touched me like he didn’t deserve me.
He cared for me like a child; the one he would never have.
He looked at me like he would die if I stopped needing him.
I stopped loving him.

I had a man once who made me cry everyday.
He kept me close; held me with force.
He managed my wardrobe, forbid me to curse.
He made me question every inch of my being, every moment of my life.
I hung outside an 8th floor window for him.
When I screamed for him, he never came.
I stopped wanting him to come.

I never chose either man.
But, whenever a man hurts me, I think of both men.
It makes me grateful.

From Mendham to the Marais

Whenever I go home my family always asks when I'll finally move out of crazy expensive New York city. I will admit there are benefits to living in the suburbs; the space, driving, the giant market. The problem is I have never felt at home in my hometown. Where I have always fantasized about living is Paris.





So if I could live anywhere it would be the fashionable Marais district of Paris. Maybe something in the 3rd arrondissement, something with a courtyard, windows from floor to ceiling, walking distance to the best shops and cafes. I'll have a bike with a basket, buy pain au chocolat only on the weekends, run along the Seine and speak perfect French. So, yeah, definitely not New Jersey family.