That entire relationship was a pregnant pause, the tipping of the water but never the splash, the unwrapping of the candy but never its sweet taste.
I'm 25 years old and I'm sitting on a subway and I'm soaking in New York City and right now it's 7:24pm and I'm curious if I could build a life here, if I could be happy here, what I would do here, would I make it?
Today I made a list of things I want to do and it was much too outrageous to ever actually complete and maybe I should blame my teachers for this, that I just dream and dream and dream and I keep moving but I don't really know where I'm going or how what I'm doing now will get me there, wherever the hell "there" is.
Life feels like a pregnant pause right now and maybe that's why I keep thinking of that relationship from my past, because it was the same feeling, like I'm holding my breath and I don't know when I can let go. Like I'm on this subway ride but I don't know where the stop is and he won't tell me. And life won't tell me.
I tell myself I've got to keep creating, keep making because Ira Glass talks about that too, that makers get into making because we have good taste but there's this period of time where what you're making isn't in line with your taste; there's this gap and you know better and so you know what you're making is bullshit but the secret is most people give up there and stop making and the secret is to keep going. I've got to keep going.
I’ve made it off the subway and I stopped and talked to a girl who was sitting on the stoop smoking a cigarette and sipping some red wine. She used to live in Los Angeles and thinks maybe she’ll return there one day when she’s older but she wants to spend January in Spain or Morocco and she’s dreaming just like me and I wonder if that’s okay, if I kept living like that, inside the pregnant pause.