Who do you love? Who do you miss? Who did you leave behind? Who misses you? When do they miss you? Who needs you most? Where do you live? Why did you love? Where did you leave? Who left first? Who cheats first? When do you cry? Why does it hurt ? Where will it get better? Where did you love? Why do you care?
I live in the tiny space between dreams about the American flag, NY skyscrapers, midnight lights of a laundromat in Bushwick and the smell of ten garbage bags in front of our Irish pub on the Upper East Side. My home is the unoccupied space between a Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys song, where I crash for just a second and prepare for the next dance. My home is made of cream cheese bagels, rice cakes and grape jam, sweet and sticky. I left at least one ocean behind me.
I almost never cry.