Monday, February 9th, 2015
Sliding my fingers between the conditioner in my brown hair, my elbows drop when I realize I'm crying, staring into nothing, my eyes lost in the whiteness of the cotton shower curtain. This happens every day, lasts just a moment, and can happen again at any time: as I pass with glazed corneas through the turnstile underground, open a fresh can of cat food, cross Delancey, close the window, thank the bodega guy, sit in bed, or greet the delivery man who brings my dinner. Once I realize it, it stops after a breath. For the most part.