Additions: Top #10

I am sometimes irrationally afraid of being alone. Do not think that I am lonely. I am not. The celebration of my occasionally fierce independence is something I will always get behind. Yet, sometimes, I can agonize, sweat, and wake up crying over just how alone I feel. Like I want to crawl up inside of the precious few, whom I call friend, and hope they can shield me, while I nourish them like a hearty meal.

I do not wear clothes often. Rarely at all. I have taken my clothing off before I’ve finished getting in the door.

“But it’s all the way in Jersey” and “How often are you in ‘the’ city?” Are statements/questions that show me more about you than me.

I desperately want to have children. Being a father someday is very important to me. And not just because I will need someone to bring me the remote.

Every other month I play through the entire John Thompson piano series (Grades 1 through 7 or 8). These are the books from which I learned to play the piano. Gorgeous classical music from the original books my teacher gave me starting at age 7. Her handwriting is still in most of them (in pencil). With each piece I feel like a child again. The fingering still lives inside my body. And I can remember what age I was as I learned each piece. I close the door to my music room and play all day if I can. It is one of my favorite days.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, I will sit on my fire escape, look at the stars, or watch the sun come up, or have a secret cigarette. This is when writing means the most to me.

If anyone ever asks you to sing/dance/play/share your art, do it. There will come a time when someone doesn’t ask you and it will hurt your feelings.

I return to it and to you because I only remember how you made me feel. I cannot write the words you said or didn’t. That would not be fair. I will only write the way that I felt when I woke up and you were not there anymore.

Additions