moment

It's in all the old, familiar places. As my breath starts to make whisps of memory in the cooling air, I find it again. I find that part of myself that says "I'll give you everything", for sentimental reasons. Hand  meets hand. Eyes lock and dart away. Transfixed, we remember what it was like to be children and why we aren't anymore. We remember the sort of love that precedes knowledge. The kind that's written into the songs we sang together, graffitied onto the subway walls, and wished for on fallen eyelashes or plucked daisies. We remember that what might not be once in a lifetime still smells like lavendar and silk.

38 degrees in October

We lean on people. They move. We fall. We don't lean anymore. These are the lessons.

New York, what was the last thing that made you smile?

I think our society has a strange fascination with product. We are preoccupied with where we are going. The how is irrelevant. The why is forgotten. We close our eyes and dream in salary brackets. We trade liberty for lifestyle. We define liberty by lifestyle. We seal business deals in meaningless handshakes. We forgo integrity for ego and emotion for efficiency. I think it's something in the coffee.

There's a moment in Beethoven's Sonata in A flat, opus 110, if played just right, when you can feel 2,500 people in an audience stop breathing. They clench their fists and hang mid air, suspended over balconies and railings. And it's not because they are hearing keys click. And it's not because they're watching nimble fingers flit by. It's because, for a moment, they can hear a piano explain, in whispers, that its heart is breaking.

I think it's time to cut up my credit card. It's plastic. And that means too much.