Promises...

In July, I’ll write more, I promise.

I wish I could say I haven’t been writing because I’ve fallen deep in love but I have no lover and no real distraction other than tripping over my own two feet. I’m not writing and I feel my consciousness slipping through my grasp, my thoughts jumbled with no place to go. It feels like summer, I’m without a lover, I feel nauseous and I just moved again. I promise I’ll write about Miami. About how good the warm clear water felt lapping at my feet and how beautiful I felt after a day lying under the relentless sun. About the fresh coconut juice and the humid evenings dancing to Cuban music until blisters formed along my feet. I’ll write about my birthday. About how much I cried the entire day. About how simultaneously I was filled with gratitude while still aching for so much more. I’ll write about loneliness and money and friendship and darkness. The same darkness that consumed me 15 years ago that still holds stake in my brain, making me shiver even on the brightest days. I’ll write about the birds outside my window and all the bad vivid dreams I’ve been having. I’ll write about past lovers creeping up to me, about nights spent in secret. I’ll write about the new training I’m doing, how I like my coffee black and strong now, and how sad I am about Ozzy Osbourne dying. I’ll write about my shameful habits, about the new retinol I use on my skin, and how red is no longer my favorite color. I promise I’ll write, I’ll be tender again, I promise I’ll let Summer envelop me in its arms and sing me to sleep. I promise I’ll be good and only a little bad, just enough to stay sane.