WhyDid’s Words: Just Try Not to Fall in Love

By |June 20th, 2018|Uncategorized|

She didn’t text him after he left her on top of the kitchen table the night before.  She didn’t know what she would have said even if she wanted to speak to him.  He’d always been a bit of a mystery to her, but now seemed like an unconquerable puzzle.

Something about him had changed.  The way he dressed. The way he carried himself. The change was subtle as one couldn’t immediately identify it, but drastic enough to know that it had occurred. He was still the man she loved, but also not at all the man she knew.  He showed up an hour late without bothering to let her know and didn’t apologize once he’d finally arrived, kicking off his white sneakers at her front door.  He looked more handsome than the last time she saw him in a soft white t-shirt and dark jeans cuffed just slightly at the ankle.  His thick dark hair was still wet from having gotten caught in the thunderstorm on his way over. But the things she’d always been attracted to in him– his stability, his integrity– seemed to be lost.

“Did you get the wine?” he asked.

At this moment, she realized she was not the same woman she knew either.

“Yes! They didn’t have exactly what you wanted, but said this was even better!” she replied cheerfully opening the second drawer under the counter to find her wine opener.

He had a way of bringing out something different in her.  He brought out her desire to care for someone else– a feeling she hadn’t experienced for several years.  A feeling she’d stopped wanting to feel.  A feeling she no longer thought that she could feel.  Strangely, here she was– wanting to protect him knowing fully that she wasn’t the slightest bit safe around him.

They sat next to each other on her small, uncomfortable white leather couch.  He hated that couch.  She knew how much he hated that couch– and she knew they were both thinking about how much he hated that couch.

She spoke, “I won’t push if you promise not to pull.”

“Explain,” he said.

“I know you’re not ready.  I won’t push you, just promise not to be so stubborn proving your point that you miss what’s right here.”


“Oh, and don’t be mad at me if you fall in love.”

He told her about his weekend.  She told him about her writing.  Neither cared much about either subject.  They were both just trying to be the the last one to make the first move when in reality they both wanted exactly the same thing.

When they’d met two years ago, there had been an undeniable connection and it was that connection that had gotten them here. That connection that had caused so much pleasure, yet so much pain.  They knew they needed to be together, they just didn’t know how.  He wanted his freedom.  She wanted his fidelity.

Finally, he reached for her.  It was as if the lightning from that night’s storm had been captured in her small one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. She often considered herself shy, a little self conscious, but never with him. Thinking of the weight she’d gained, the wrinkles she’d earned never mattered in those moments. She felt free.  She felt like herself.  It was as if his own sense of freedom rubbed off on her during these moments.  It was seductive.  It was addictive.  It was confusing.

They sat and talked again.  This time they laughed.  They talked about their friends.  They talked about their first date.  She felt so close to him.  He called her by the wrong name.


Who was Michelle?  We all know that people have lives outside of our own together, but what happens when those other lives collide?  Did Michelle also feel this connection?  Had he ever called Michelle by her name?

She hadn’t even thought about him ever being with, let alone feeling the feelings she thought were exclusive to them, with someone else.  It was as if she could see for the very first time in her life.

She didn’t sleep well that night.  She didn’t sleep well most of the time, but this was different.  She felt like all of the light had been let in.  Her delusions had been dampened.

When she did finally get up, she checked her phone and saw a message.

“What was your favorite part about last night?”

WhyDid’s Words: Wanna Go for a Ride?

By |June 4th, 2018|Uncategorized|

“Ever wonder why we spend money at carnivals when they’re plenty of people who will take us for a ride for free?”

She stopped mid bite to look back at her friend.  Her friend often spoke in analogies, but this one was particularly interesting.  Especially since she couldn’t even recall the last time she’d been to a proper carnival beyond that of her community garden fundraiser and that only consisted of cornhole and face painting.

She finished chewing her bite of carrot hummus and pita before asking, “What do you mean?”

Her friend snorted and rolled her eyes as if she’d just asked why we breathe.

“Seriously? You are literally the queen of carnivals!  If there was a CEO for the Tilt-O-Whirl, a ferris wheel president… you’d be it!”

She put down her pita.  “What are you talking about?!”

“Please don’t take this as an insult– it’s not– you just believe what everyone says because you mean everything that you say.  And well, sadly, most people have zero intention behind their words, as beautiful as those words sound at the time.  It’s almost as if they say what they say for their own benefit– to feel as if they have any intimate connection to another person. And you entertain it– just like the bearded woman entertains the world’s tallest twins…”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s the the irony of it all. If you understood, you’d be just like the rest.  And you, my sweet friend, are not like any of them.”

“You’re looking at the world through a fun house mirror.  It’s all distorted.”

“Hmm…” she said, “maybe I should just go and run away with the circus.”


WhyDid’s Words: Not One in the Same

By |May 10th, 2018|Uncategorized, WhyDid Wisdom|

“You’re so predictable it’s boring.”

He cocked his head back and gave a snort.

She raised her left eyebrow in defiance.  She’d grown tired of his excuses and his arrogance.

He stared back at her for a moment collecting the right words to assemble his defense.

“Come on, babe. You can’t be mad at me because I’m busy.  I just can’t predict my schedule sometimes.  So, I’m– unpredictable if anything and last time I checked, that’s a good thing.”

There was a moment of silence.  Their eyes were locked and she took another second and another breath before she spoke again.


He was hoping this pause indicated his explanation had appeased her or at very least confused her.  But that was his fatal mistake and she zeroed in on that like a hawk does a baby bunny in a field a hundred feet below.

Despite all appearances, she wasn’t like most.  She had the ability to cut straight through people’s words– she was a writer after all–  and according to her father would’ve made one hell of an attorney with her grasp of language and graceful composure.


“See, you’ve got it wrong, handsome. Unpredictable and unreliable are not one in the same.”

She half smiled and uncrossed her arms for the first time since he’d gotten there.

“Unreliable means that I can’t count on you. I don’t know if you’ll show up.  I don’t even know if you’ll call to tell me you’re not going to show up.”

“Unpredictable means I can count on you.  I know you’ll show up, but I don’t know if that means you’ll show up with flowers and a casserole or if you’ll show up and fuck me against my front door.”

She didn’t say anything else.  She didn’t need to.

He didn’t know what to say, but for the first time in their years of back and forth, he realized that his standard auto-responses and charm weren’t going to quell this storm.  Not even deflection would fly.

So, they both just stood there not speaking.  Not moving.  Not knowing what the other was thinking.

After a few minutes, she broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Speaking of front doors…”

She opened hers, nodded to it, and looked at him expectantly.

He wanted to say something.  He wanted to stay.  He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know how– he’d never had to.

She wanted his apology. She wanted him to take this as an opportunity to change.  She wanted him to be unpredictable.



WhyDid’s Words: Menage a Trois

By |April 19th, 2018|Uncategorized|

I didn’t really remember meeting you, to be honest. I’d had too much wine.

The only part I remember is standing on the second stair of a stoop step to kiss you and then you carrying me over your shoulder up six flights of stairs to look at the moon on your roof somewhere over Lower Manhattan.

You got me a taxi home and I never planned on seeing you again. The only reason I’d even agreed to come meet you was because when he’d left that afternoon, I knew it was over with him and the ugly vindictive part we all have somewhere inside of us wanted to spite him.

The funny part was, once I’d agreed to see you again, I forgot all about him.  You were all of the things that he wasn’t.

Months later when I’d grown attached and you’d grown cold and distant, he reappeared as if in knowing he had an opening. Knowing that I was feeling hurt, neglected, weak.

At times I felt guilty. Other times I knew you were doing the same thing. He didn’t know a thing about you and am sure your ego your ego wouldn’t have allowed you to think I’d ever dare to stray.

He was all of the things that you weren’t.

A circle of people doing the same thing to each other. Everyone’s heart just a little bit somewhere else.

I thought about you when I was with him. I thought about him when I was with you.

This was the first time I realized you could love two very different at people at the very same time.



WhyDid’s Words: The Wanderess

By |February 1st, 2018|Uncategorized|

They were seated quickly at Max and Moritz that evening.  The ambience was charming, the light warm.  She looked around wide eyed taking in all the details… the large iron light fixtures, the funny sculptures.  She peered around the room at her fellow diners with wonder.  He looked down at his phone.

When she turned back around to comment on the odd group of diners next to him in hopes of guessing their relation to one another (one of her favorite things to do), she frowned to see his face lit brightly by a screen rather than the red candle on their table.

“Who are you texting?” she asked smirking.

“No one.  I’m looking to see where we should go next.”

She laughed, “We just sat down! We haven’t even ordered drinks!”

He looked back at her blankly and returned to his investigative work.  She shrugged and carried on observing the room and wondering what each of these people’s story was.

It had been like this all week while they traveled.  He marched straight to the train only to turn around every so often to see that he’d need to wait for her to catch up as something had, without fail, caught her eye.

She liked to wander.  The only time she ever held up her phone was to take a photograph of something that had made her laugh or something she found so beautiful that she’d try and capture it so as to never forget (but we all know that photographs will never do those moments justice).

He had plans.  She wanted to wing it.  After all, isn’t that how you really see something?  By walking the tiny streets, popping your head into antique and book stores, sitting down at a restaurant with no sign to try and talk to a stranger?

The beauty of a city, much like a person, is in all of the tiny little details.  The freckles on his cheek, the dog that sits in the window at the front of the shop.  The way he laughs and looks down when he’s embarrassed, the local slang for an American word.  How can you ever love something when you plow directly through as to get straight to the point?

She wanted to love the city.  She was certain there would be some sort of connection as her ancestors were from there and that must mean something.  Upon arrival, she was a bit disappointed.  It wasn’t a beautiful city.

“This isn’t Paris,” he said with a roll of his eyes.  So, she remained inquisitive asking questions about the buildings, cocking her head to listen when he gave her history lessons.  But days passed and she still felt nothing for the city.  She wondered why.  Everyone had told her how wonderful it was– the art, the food, the culture.

Another day passed and she, again, found herself puzzled when her dinner companion was again, engrossed in his electronics.

She leaned in with her head tilted, and said, “Hello!”

He was not pleased with her distraction so she just smiled and said, “Can I tell you something in the kindest way I know how?”

He was listening.

“Sometimes, you are here, but you aren’t really here.  Like you don’t seem to be living at this very moment.”

This also displeased him despite her sweet tone. She abandoned the conversation by pointing out a man who looked just like someone they knew.  There was no use arguing overseas, especially when this evenings’ cast of characters would provide her imagination plenty of possibilities.  It occurred to her that night that there is a vast difference between going somewhere and being somewhere.

What is the purpose of traveling the globe if you don’t engross yourself in your surroundings, surrendering yourself to that city?  Unless you’ve got a list to check off, you may as well just stay home with a good book.

She continued to wander bemused.  They saw gilded castles, bullet holes left behind from the war, got lost and scolded in museums.  They even laid eyes upon Nefertiti’s elegant bust.

It was during this adventure that she realized what Hemingway had meant when he said, “Never to go on trips with anyone you do not love.”  She knew her friend had been just as perturbed with her wandering  and antics as she had been with the rigidity.  To travel together, two people must always be on the same page– and if not, they very well better be in love enough to forgive one another of their differences.