found this in the vault.

14th street and 7th avenue, close to midnight. I'm walking down the stairs to wait for the 1 or 2 or 3 train, and I hear him before I see him. He's playing sharp and fast on his old old old violin, and despite the late hour after a long day, I can feel myself grin from ear to ear. God I love the sound of the violin. He's an old cuban man, smiling back at me and leaning into the moan and wail of his music. And he's walking toward me as he plays. Damnit I shouldn't have smiled. He pulls the violin away from himself and tells me in a thick accent that I am new pupil. I blink. He sets this gorgeous old wooden instrument under my chin and tilts my head down toward it. He bends and unbends my fingers until I am holding it right, and I let him. He points to the bow and tells me it is a knife. I don't understand. He repeats it. I shrug okay. He points to the violin and tells me that it is a piece of kentucky fried chicken. I don't understand. He says, watch me cut my chicken, and begins playing the violin under my chin exactly as if if were a piece of chicken and he was an angry carver. The sound is beautiful. He hands me the knife and tells me to do the same. I'm too enthralled to be self-conscious, so I begin to cut the antique chicken in front of me. He claps and tells the other people waiting that I am a natural. He sets my fingers up and has me play for a few minutes. He won't take any money from me, but tells me to get a guitar or a violin and he will teach me to play for free. He lives for music. He looks for people that might want to learn to play instruments. I offer him some food from work. He thanks me but tells me that his wife has packed him dinner already. Get that guitar, he tells me. The three train arrives and I think I'll look into it.

three minutes
take it easy
nothing is certain
the world is smaller than you think
the world is larger than you think
slow down
when you have the chance, say yes
don´t forget what will always be good
keep your heart open when it hurts
let go
learn from your mistakes
balance
nothing is impossible

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.-Oscar Wilde

this can't be real life. it's too good.

On the Hudson

wrapped me up in brown black eyes,
we let the sun warm us.
gazed until I looked away
and lifted gold strands away from my cheeks.
traced my brow, jaw, ear with fingertips
and asked if I knew how beautiful I was.
I suppose I didn't because I don't recall
ever looking at myself that way.
we were by the water and the sun
left its silver white trail
on the waves.
we were by the water and we talked
about where we were going this summer.
me to europe,
him to senegal and zimbabwe.
both alone.
we were by the water and I said that
I would always need to find water to sit by.
dinner was oxtail, rice and beans,
and dessert was strawberries and blackberries
from the farmer's market.
there are a million faces in this city.
every one has their story and today I was young.
innocent in ways he hadn't been in years and
aware of things he might never be.
we didn't need to talk about forever
or tomorrow.
it's summer time and I've given up on love.
I don't want cheap substitutes,
but that doesn't mean
I'm turning down dinner by the river either.
I let myself be wrapped up
in brown, got lost in black
berry stained fingers.
we let the sun warm us.

I want my scars to be kissed first.