I woke up at 3 a.m. from a dream that felt like a visitation.
You told me you loved me. Said the last time you said it, you meant it. Said the love hadn’t gone anywhere, it just got quiet.
You said you left because you were afraid.
But it was love.
I woke up. 3:00 a.m. on the dot. I stared at the ceiling for what felt like an hour, maybe more.
That day, I was supposed to see the guy I went out with earlier this year. The one who disappeared to Germany without saying goodbye.
He bailed. Said he was seeing a friend instead.
I didn’t respond.
So I stayed in the studio and worked. Lost myself in it, because that’s the only way I know how to make a day feel like it mattered.
By the time I looked up, it was 9 p.m. I hadn’t eaten. My phone was dying. I’d hardly spoken to anyone all day.
I got on the train headed home. Realized two stops in I was going the wrong direction. Downtown. Eventually ended up on the Upper East Side. No charger. No food.
I walked to the grocery store. It had closed five minutes before I got there.
On 83rd and Lex, a doorman looked at me and said,
“You look so divine. I hope your night is as beautiful as you are.”
His voice had that old New York edge…tired but sincere.
I nodded.
I thanked him. Kept walking.
Lightning cracked above me.
“Even God agrees,” he said.
I didn’t answer, but I looked over my shoulder and smiled at him. Just for a second.
I bet I looked unreal from the doormans point of view at that moment. Clean. Composed. Still untouched by the storm. White tank, flowy skirt, bare shoulders under a sky about to open. For a moment, that interaction pulled me out of it.
But I only ever think about myself and you.
So of course, I thought about how easily you would’ve melted if you’d seen me just then.
I kept walking. I’d decided on matzah ball soup from Gracie’s. A walk. The rain started somewhere near 3rd Avenue. First a mist, then a storm.
I was wearing $1200 heels, a wool mini skirt, no umbrella, white tank top, no bra. A designer bag worth more than the rent I still hadn’t paid (and it was already the 3nd).
I ran.
Gracie’s was packed. Everyone turned to stare as I walked in soaking wet, mascara probably halfway down my cheeks.
I sat at the counter. Ordered the soup. Looked at myself in the mirror.
The tank top was see-through. Fully. The man behind the counter gave me an extra soup for free. I wonder why…
I walked home, still soaked, carrying the soup like it was medicine.
Every guy on Second Avenue saw my tits.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to eat and sleep.
I showered when I got home. Cried in the water.
Not the desperate kind. The kind that just leaks out of you when there’s no room left inside.
I got in bed with my soup and turned on The Sopranos.
No one texted. My phone barely turned on.
I checked the photo I’d posted earlier. The one from before all this.
Only a few people had liked it.
But my phone glitched, and only one name showed up.
Yours.