a victoria p


10 September 2007


I remember when we were sitting in Union Square, some summer evening, a few years ago around dusk, when you told me that the way I bite my cigarettes when I light them was sexy.

That same day, we walked on the perimeters of some park on the lower east side, somewhere under Stuyvesant town, where I remembered my friend liz from college and you told me that this city is so big, that you could wake up any day and have exactly what you wanted.

Just last week, you were drunk; you asked me if I had remembered what you said. I was more so relieved that you had remembered telling me. I remember the exact location on the curb we were, when I looked over at you and you were so dead serious. I remember how you always walked with me in the inside of the street.

My cigarette-stained fingers will always smell like you to me. They will always smell like home.

You are never too far from my mind. A part of you will live inside me always. We will fall asleep, drunken and too tightly entwined for most to be able to fall asleep, many times over again.

I love you in a way I have never loved anyone before. I think that it is the most genuine, and honest love I have had for someone. I think it is the strangest, most peculiar love.

I can sit in silence with you.

I’m losing the lightest tears right now and, I swear, I can’t remember the last time I cried.

Don’t forget why you came to New York. It’s not too late. You can always look back at these few years and, instead of regretting them, learn from them. Success stories most often start in the lows that we have seen.

You are your own worst enemy.

This is not your girlfriend nagging you, this is your biggest fucking fan, begging you to stay alive.

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