July (belatedly, from my J train notebook pages)
I don't owe anyone an explanation, but here is where my newsletter-type thoughts have been for the last six weeks:
(unedited transcript below)
July being the month of breaking hearts while healing my own. July being the month I quit my shitty job. July being the month that was unforgettably hot - as though New York heard me sign a lease in another state and said, “fine, but you’ll have to go through hell to get there.” “Fine, but we’ll have the last sweaty pee-smelling loud laugh.” July being the month I saw Lucy Dacus on a hotter-than-hell night when I saw someone pass out at the show and on the way home. July being the month where I decided for the first year to truly celebrate my mom’s birthday instead of the day she died. July being the month my black sunglasses broke, the month I retrieved my prom dress from my old place and saw my ex likely for the last time. July being the month an orthopedist told me my X-rays were fine and that I may benefit from taking fucking Aleve. July being the month I visited Roosevelt Island for the first time, somehow, defying gravity on that rickety little tram. July being the month of one million egg sandwiches from Gourmet Deli on Broome at Ludlow, and I think the month I discovered Zefe’s on Myrtle is still in business, they were just closed temporarily for Covid. July being the month I started to let go of expectations (and still hung onto some). July being the month I began to let myself love again, and the month I began to let one of my biggest, oldest loves go (Brooklyn).
August's letter will come sooner. In September I will be writing to you from Virginia and I will appear in your inbox at an appropriate time. (If you'd like my new mailing address please reach out.)
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