A thank you to my ex

I have playlists for men in my life with which I have had a significant romantic connection. So far, I have three.

When I listen to the playlist of the man that caused me so much pain and doubt for five years, I can only think of how much I have grown through that period, and afterwards. I look at the progression of songs:

from the first songs he sent me, so full of hope and young love —

to the songs I listened to one year in, so full of pleading, asking him to stop the hurt —

to the bittersweet songs that I played for him as I let him go, slowly and lovingly.

My playlist for him has evolved; but then again, so have I.

* * *

I started this blog while I was with him. In fact, he is the reason I started this blog. The first words I typed in were efforts to be understood by the world at large — if he couldn’t understand me, then maybe someone else out there would.

Eventually, they became words that felt healing to me, like a cool salve that I applied to wounds that were there before even him. I communed with my past through my words, and through this process, turned myself inside out. It was painful, but joyful. I relived my trauma every time my fingers flew across my keyboard. Through this blog, I’ve written about him, about other loves, but mostly, about myself — and that’s what I have needed the most.

And because of this, I want to thank him for being the gateway to this world of catharsis; for being the initial struggle I had to overcome before I truly got to the hard stuff; for necessitating this blog that accepts my beautiful and my ugly.

* * *

Here are three songs
dedicated to each phase of our love:

The budding romance;

The suffocating love;

The ebbing breakup.

* * *

ts


Daily Post prompt: Gate

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What makes a city? 

What makes a city? 

Is it the cracks traversing its roads, our human wanderlust rendering a city cripple?

Is it the tunnels lined with darkness, like coffins, reminding us of our destiny back to the dirt?

Is it the cacophony of human desires, splashed onto billboards and bedsheets, spilling out into streets?

I breathe it all in, letting in particles of you, you, and yes, even you.

What makes a city? There is a strange comfort to this suffocation, a warmth to this blanket of shared struggle, this smog of excrement, this mosaic of pain.

Stick

This breakdown is dedicated to my 3-year-grind learning how to drive stick. I’m a slow learner.

***

First gear—
Feel that resistance
To click into place
The first inches come
With struggle and pain

1976-1977-toyota-celica-gt-liftback-shift-knob1

Second—
Timid, insistent
My feet do a dance
Pushing the pedals
(Not quite) to the max

1976-1977-toyota-celica-gt-liftback-shift-knob2

Third—
The game (velocity)
That amateurs practice
Drive me to the middle
And improve my tactics

1976-1977-toyota-celica-gt-liftback-shift-knob3

Fourth—
A state of stability
I could get used to this
I look up; alas, a pinnacle
I can’t call it quits

1976-1977-toyota-celica-gt-liftback-shift-knob4

Fifth—
Rolling at my highest potential
So glad to be here
Sharks die in inertia
But I’ll just go down (the gears)

***

And that’s how the flow goes driving a 5-speed.