I Only Got to Read a Page

April 8th, 2026

Today, I spent the day with a friend, yapping on her bunk bed about cycling and cats. Her sister mentioned they wanted to adopt one, so I told them about a fancy Petco with cats on the first floor. We rode the A, with their cousin, all the way down to Union Square. After getting a bunch of helpful tips from the Petco coordinator, our bellies rumbling, we headed to Chinatown for Korean fried chicken.

It was quiet on the street when we headed back home. People talked about stores closing earlier because others would walk around shooting up in the streets. Narrow sidewalks. Trash scattered everywhere. Blue lights bouncing off the pavement, a dark sky above, elders shuffling by, the projects not too far away. I rarely come down here—mostly because the stations are far from wherever you need to go.

This was the first time in a while I felt… warm. Okay.

Surrounded by brown women who loved each other and wanted to coexist.

It reminded me of family—something I don’t really experience anymore.

Sitting in a cold living room up around 190th. A street-level apartment with birds chirping in the kitchen. Pressed up against two of my favorite cousins in the dark, watching Annie. I can’t remember the movie, but I remember their red bunk bed. The games we’d play on their DS.

Running up and down the halls with my other cousin. Watching the Michael Jackson movie on repeat. Watching her cry while I sat there, eating my crushed cup of ice.

Just being with people your age. Exploring the world together.

There was a sense of peace when my friend offered me a bite from her plate, knowing I’m a picky eater. I wasn’t nervous. I actually liked the soy sauce–soaked salad the restaurant brought out.

Her cousin was funny—looked so young for her age. I loved watching their dynamics, the three of them together.

So much history unfolding, but I only got to read a page.

I rode the train back listening to music like it meant something to me again, after a dopamine detox. But I know that numbness will return, just like life’s ups and downs, just like the mundane days always do.

It’s hard for me to be happy about the boring days. The lonely ones. The uneventful ones.

I’m trying to live my life day by day.

But fuck, it’s so hard.