-
“It’s been seven hours and fifteen days,” (Sinéad O’Connor, Nothing Compares 2U)or 2191 days if you’re the kind who needs the math, since you walked in like you owned the placeand bent me into a kind of happy I didn’t trust but wanted anyway.It only needed water, we thought.Turns out it needed a whole lot…
-
“Chancho. When you are a man, sometimes you wear stretchy pants.” Nacho Libre Nacho Libre drops that gem on his sidekick while getting busted in his luchador tights, and damn if it didn’t sneak-attack my brain the other day. Picture this: I’m crawling along the freeway, soul-crushing traffic turning my car into a rolling therapy…
-
Piernas de viento,largas,cruzando el filo donde el aire sangra. Las lágrimas esperan,quietas como cuchillos en la mesa,pero tú no paras,ni miras atrás. Las piedras lloran por ti,rezan un Padre Nuestroque nunca acaba.Repites el guiondel sufrirpor unosolo. Te espero.Lo sabes.Te vale apenas más que nada,el despojo que queda de mí. De la flaca no me guardo…
-
Verde cries to the rhythm of a cold keyboardclicking like teeth in winter,truth hidden in the pause between strokes,where feeling seeps through the lies we tell ourselvesjust to sleep. A leaf, unaware, drifts into a fight it never chose,tempest-tossed,while I—anchored in memory—think of you,not in a place marked by mapsbut in lands worn thin by…
-
I wished for you to arrive in the shape of a moment,not planned—just… happened.But time, ever cryptic, wore the wrong watch that day.I didn’t know you were already walking through my frequency,your presence trembling inside a missed ring,a number that never belonged to us. No, not ours.Let me trace it again in ink instead of…
-
It’s Wednesday. The world’s on hold—Wall Street holds its breath like a priest before confession,waiting on the Fed to whisper its gospel of rates.The headlines scroll with conflict:dust devils of sand and sorrow between Iran and Israel,while a man in a white hat chants a forgotten hymnabout greatness, past tense. And me?I’m at Rosebuds, beneath…
-
I left,then came back,less each time,until what I left behindwas more than what waited for mewhen I returned. This happened with love,with dreams,with promisesmore than I wanted to admit. I tried to believeI came home richer,but truth tugged at me:I left pieces behindand never returned with more. She must have seen it,must have felt itsometimes…
-
“The moment you have to ask for certainty, you’ve already felt its absence.” bb grey She rose onto her toes, as if by getting just a little closer, she might finally reach the part of him that always felt just out of touch. It wasn’t his height—it was the distance. Still, she reached for him…
“All colors made me happy even grey.” Nabokov, Pale Fire
A German carpenter by day working hard to follow a Jewish carpenter, exploring writing as a creative outlet. Passionate about learning through practice and observation.
BB Grey--musings 