I'm Brett, suburbanite ginger trying NYC on for size.
I'm a dreamer, a try-to-write-r, an amateur photographer, and lover of all things coffee and theatre.
Someday I'm going to tell a really great story. Don't forget me.
I’ve been missing the first person I ever dated in the city lately, and I really don’t know why. probably because they were fucking perfect. gave me a nickname and it’s virtually impossible to do that with me. That first date in the cafe, with icicle lights and snow falling outside…
The second date at Max Brenner’s for cocoa.
And the third at the museum and the lighted trees outside the Plaza Hotel, looking into your eyes and feeling happy and that kiss….goddamn. I could have fallen in love with you I think.
But I can’t trust myself. Or other people. I don’t like feeling like this because it makes me vulnerable and not exactly needy, but definitely attention-seeking and when I don’t get that, I shut down. It’s not pretty and I’m not proud of it.
I guess it’s a good thing though. I’m learning not to care. I need to get over this…
well well well. if it isn’t my old friend, the dawning realization that i fucked up real bad
I want to relate to people. But at my core, I am weird. Not weird like an outcast or weird like obtuse, but weird like sometimes I stand in front of a mirror and look at myself and see that I’ve aged and I feel as if a thousand little parts of me have died and who I was 10 years ago is as foreign to me (I assume) as who I’ll be in 10 more years. It’s not that I’ve changed so much, it’s that the world has changed around me and I’ve seen the changes and reacted accordingly. So maybe we will not connect on the details. Maybe we will connect on broad horizons. Maybe it just matters that we both see the same stars at night even if the ones right above us will never, ever be the same.