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Two winters ago I would chain-smoke spirits on my way to work in the early mornings; windows down, blueish fingertips, driving through the gunks into the sunrise, Leonard Cohen on repeat—             I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel I would drive home much the same way, sometimes going the long way to catch the sunset; my sunless days, nestled between 4 stiff walls The world was grey;             grey pavement             grey skies             grey walls             grey smoke It must be this way forever, I thought. that February was the coldest month I remember being alive— This year the windows are up, the sun is bright, I keep my car warm. In the passenger seat; a bag of sweet sesame rice crackers, an apple, lime seltzer, a little jacket, my journal, tiny socks— I reach my hand in the backseat when Winona cries, let her wrap her tiny fingers around my thumb, "I'm here, sweet girl" I pull into a park on the river— we get out             watch the trees             sway, the breeze paints our faces rose, we orient ourselves in this big, unfamiliar world. she reaches her hand out as if to grab the falling leaves, a wonderous look on her soft face— she smiles, she touches my face, just months old and she knows             my voice she knows             my safety— for a moment,             nothing else exists,             the world doesn't know             we're here— for a moment, it's just us,             like it was in that hospital room             not too long ago for a moment, there is             peace— I wonder if I'll remember this in 60 years, when both our hands will have wrinkled, mine more than hers; when crows' feet ordain our eyes; when I've lived my life, and she's well into hers. I know she won't remember, I hope I do—
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May 21, 2025
May 21, 2025 at 9:17 PM UTC
It's Just Us
Two winters ago I would chain-smoke spirits on my way to work in the early mornings; windows down, blueish fingertips, driving through the gunks into the sunrise, Leonard Cohen on repeat—             I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel I would drive home much the same way, sometimes going the long way to catch the sunset; my sunless days, nestled between 4 stiff walls The world was grey;             grey pavement             grey skies             grey walls             grey smoke It must be this way forever, I thought. that February was the coldest month I remember being alive— This year the windows are up, the sun is bright, I keep my car warm. In the passenger seat; a bag of sweet sesame rice crackers, an apple, lime seltzer, a little jacket, my journal, tiny socks— I reach my hand in the backseat when Winona cries, let her wrap her tiny fingers around my thumb, "I'm here, sweet girl" I pull into a park on the river— we get out             watch the trees             sway, the breeze paints our faces rose, we orient ourselves in this big, unfamiliar world. she reaches her hand out as if to grab the falling leaves, a wonderous look on her soft face— she smiles, she touches my face, just months old and she knows             my voice she knows             my safety— for a moment,             nothing else exists,             the world doesn't know             we're here— for a moment, it's just us,             like it was in that hospital room             not too long ago for a moment, there is             peace— I wonder if I'll remember this in 60 years, when both our hands will have wrinkled, mine more than hers; when crows' feet ordain our eyes; when I've lived my life, and she's well into hers. I know she won't remember, I hope I do—
#mothering#memory#time#change
mystik_bee
Written by
mystik_bee
25/F/New York
May 21, 2025
May 21, 2025 at 9:17 PM UTC
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