xoxo, nico

i’m sorry i can’t make it i have prior engagements. i lost my wallet and i don’t have an id to get into where you want me to go so its pointless for you to put me on the list. my phones broken and i’m not taking any calls. lately its like i’m loosing everything. all of the sudden its all gone like it was stolen before it disappeared into thin air right out from under my nose slipping through finger tips and there’s no insurance or any way to replace the damage i’ve already caused. i wish i may i wish i might have nothing to do with what happened that night.

good luck keep in touch hope to see you soon. maybe i will stay up really late at night and stalk your facebook or login into your myspace because i happen to guess the password on accident once in a moment of weakness only to discover that you are the most boring fucking person on the planet. some relationships make me sick to my stomach and i don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to stand on your own two feet instead of let them control the places you go and the way you feel when they stand there a few feet from me. i have no problem ignoring you not one bit because you are a bad habit that i would like to quit. sometimes it fascinates me how fast people can go from being in love to an acquaintance you see more often than not or once in a while but what the fuck no one says we can’t be friends.

poor little rich girls i wonder who you’re going to play with later.

when i kicked my fiance out of the beacon street apartment we shared for two years miss christmas moved in. a year later she relocated to the lower east side and i stayed at her place after la la land didn’t last so she is the reason i’m wasn’t homeless in the freezing cold streets of new york city when i decided to run away yet again with wet feet. last year we wound up living a few blocks from each other in kings county and last night she called me at two thirty in the morning freaking out with a fever of one hundred three point eight. by the time i got to her place the mercury rose to one hundred four point three so i put her in the car that drove us to the hospital.

the mansions in newport rhode island are lined up in between a rock cliff and a winding bellevue avenue. high society imported italian marble and threw lavish parties to impress the vanderbilts and the astors among 200 other famous ornaments on an exclusive list. the scandal that a prince created when he divorced his wife and married a half his age mistress in the foyer of the family’s summer estate was gossip all over the titanic. the newly weds were returning from their honey moon in egypt and boarded the ship with first class tickets off the coast of ireland but only the pregnant widow got on a life boat before it split in two and sunk to the bed in the frigid north atlantic. his heart froze like an iceberg no one saw coming until it was in front of a telescope lens. ta ta for now maybe in another life we will meet again.

the last time i was stuck in the emergency room i got a ride there in an ambulance. miss christmas was there when the decision that marrying him in the foyer of the astor mansion was probably not a good one. i was going to keep the solitaire diamond tiffany set on a platinum ring as a token so i hid it at the bottom of a change purse full of quarters he used to flip in order to figure out if he was lucky. when he came back to collect the rest of his belongings i had already come to the conclusion i don’t deserve the present nor did i need a keepsake to remind me of something broken. this is old news borrowed from a history of blues.

danger

…feels so good.

evidently my addiction has not subsided. he remains present and I will be seeing him this week.

i have no soul it seems.

no soul or self control.

there’s a way to kiss and make-up for the lies and twists hidden between significant friendships. only time can heal these wounds and even if the scar tissue was cut open after the stitches were removed months ago you could still end up bleeding blue blood. i rolled up a photograph and slipped it into an empty wine jug carefully packed at the bottom of an old treasure chest buried in a hope cove. the fragile stickers have been worn off for years and the last drop stained the edge of my imagination when i fit the cork back on top. there’s a hand drawn map folded in my pocket and i never leave home without the broken compass concealed in a hand me down locket. a fortune teller once told me i hold the soul of a young love who was taken away before she was supposed to go. i wonder if that’s the reason why i always find i myself in the wrong place at the right time or if patients is playing tricks on me while i sit and wait for the one and only who can show me directions back to where i will dig up my time capsule. eventually i’ll be able to replace the pair of white lace gloves i borrowed to brush off all the dust and uncover what i had to forget to loose on purpose.

i love new york but j’tadore paris. i’ve never been there but i’m supposed to live there. i’ve said this for years. at a fair in the county of orange a palm reader told me it was meant to be. she said i was destined for a happy ending and that the soul mate i was yet to meet is friends with friends of friends. three two one degrees of separation then on and on about how i surround myself with fame plus fortune. they sing and i dance to harmonica bass ukulele bongos and tambourine all wrapped up like the present inside the world that revolves around who we’ve scene. this gypsie told me my aura was the color of burnt umber and that i would have to wait for what my third eye refused to see. i responded with patience is my only vice and i have a tendency to refuse to think twice before i end up in a position that i’m not supposed to be in. whatever worked must only work for them.