but I never had to hold you by the edges like I do now

I tread quietly these days, watching planes cover the moon, sipping tea. Sometimes there are outbursts, laughter at night in the small crevices of New York City bars. I read (yet another) article about the fall of newspapers and I continue to brace for an end that never quite comes.
This quietness these days, I save my words for letters and e-mails and phone calls. I'm exhausted by small talk and I crave my best friends who are scattered across this world that I'm dying to see.
Tonight, amidst cranberry sauce and Sangiovese wine and too much talk of real estate for my liking, I wrote smallish notes to myself: It's time to leave. But first, the waiting.

the autumn leaves

The leaves are red and mid-departure, elections are over, a lone striped sock sits sans partner on my living room floor. I am drinking pumpkin beer, candles burn, and I need to write many letters and make many phone calls.
I read about a communal living space in Brooklyn in the new issue of New York Magazine today as I drowned my sleepy self in coffee and I so want to live there. I'm trying to persuade Emile to live in some communal-type living place at some point in our lives - lots of people making Thai food together, reading stories out loud by the fire, watching cold waves crash on rocky shores (well, that's not Brooklyn so much- but maybe Maine?).
My friend showed me pictures of his trip to Portland, and now I have such an urge to live there. So many bookstores (especially Powell's!), little Cuban cafes with yellow walls, bus rides to volcanoes.
p.s. Anais Nin was in my dream last night!