doubt
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last night I sat cross-legged on the floor of the small Brooklyn apartment where I live with mom and abuela, guitar in my lap, a song in my head I haven’t finished yet. outside, the city hummed its usual lullaby — sirens, wind, someone yelling too far away to understand. inside, just me, chasing chords…
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I never know what to say after someone says, ‘your music is beautiful,’ except to agree with them. for me, beauty is an end of conversation. the beginning is different: this is when you have to be suspicious of your best lines, your best melodies, tell the unusual from the boring. beginning kills. but beginning also produces all the discoveries. that’s when you start…
cookie nieves 