therapy
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the soft brown chair by the window, overlooking Fulton Street, holds me tonight.I come here most weeks for therapy, and for a little while, the world outside feels far away, almost like the air in here belongs only to me. my hands won’t stay still. my thoughts circle around themselves, heavy and jagged.depression and addiction…
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lately I’ve been spending less time at the memory center. therapy has taken more of my days, and though I know I need it, I still miss being there. I miss the way presence feels in that place: the heartbeats I catch in the quiet of their eyes, the warmth that comes through a hand…
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in group the other day, we were doing this mindfulness practice — focusing on an object or scene, really letting yourself see it, the texture, the light, and edges. the quiet stuff your brain skips past most days. someone pointed out a single cloud moving past the window. we all looked. then a man, maybe…
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abuelita aka the Notorious ABU (she doesn’t like it when I call her that) invited her friend Spiridoula K from Queens (aka tía SK) over for dinner last night. tía SK brought delicious homemade Greek pastries and an album of black and white photographs from when she was a little girl. I call her tía…
cookie nieves 