vittorella

I live in a little white house in the north of New Jersey, bordering on the humble city of New York. It's cute in theory. Sometimes it's even cute in practice. I have a lawn and my emotionally estranged mother planted hydrangeas out front, next to the mailbox. There's a yard for our dogs. There's a bustling grove of oak trees out back. Our neighbors have a swimming pool so the tranquil sound of running water is constant in the summer. I have my own bedroom and I can hang my theatre posters on the walls. One day, I was even brought home an automated motion-sensing trashcan. To this day, my prized possession. Still, I hate my white house.  Last night, at around 3:23 A.M. (naturally) - my father laid hands on my brother. He'd never done that before, not ever. It's not like my brother didn't deserve being hit, he's an asshole more often than not, but it reminded me of something very true. This house is alive. It breathes out memories and swallows new experie...

I've cried more tears over one girl this week than I've ever cried for her in years. Nostalgia isn't exactly an emotion I carry with me, it's something I allow to drift out my mouth, but it never reaches my brain anymore. However this week, the week of the 9th, something's changed that I want to kill through the throat. I'm weak to pain, I really am. I've remembered things I've swore off, I've renounced lovers I used to trace in my soul, and I've tried to chase this girl away. I couldn't, and that's how I've ended up here, where I never wanted to be. It's this letter of damnation or an unread text, and I simply cannot stomach the latter. So bear with me adoring readers, for this is a tale of old. Primary school was a lonesome time. I had one person who meant everything to me, because they were my entire world, an anchor to Earth. We meant too much to one another, and that became the target of this pain. Loving someone beyond reaso...

Okay, let's talk NYC for the millionth time. Home of my bloodline. Home of Broadway. Home of everything I love and everything I hate. I can't imagine a life without the city. For instance, the possibility of being born somewhere like Oklahoma is something I cannot even begin to conceptualize. I believe it's because I wouldn't be me without New York City. I asked my friend once if she could see me living in London, because they've been (hi niko!), and they said no. I was too New York for it. I remember that, out of all the mindless conversations we'd had, because they're right. I couldn't be anywhere else. To be myself I'd have to be in New York. I'm not sure why that is, how that is, the science behind it. I just know if they took me away, a part of me would be missing. Me and New York City are inseparable. My great-grandmother, my Nonna, came here in 1912. By here I mean Brooklyn, washed up on the shores of Ellis Island. I've never been to E...