Montrose Avenue

This is the first time I’m talking about it.

A vague memory. I remember sitting on the stoop of my building or whatever you call that step in front of my project building – we were too poor to own a stoop. We had many moments there, also in libraries, elevators, parks, hallways, that bench … you know “public” places. But we knew darn well our people weren’t going to ​no​ library! ​W​hen you’re all in, your mind is a deceptive thing. It takes you places you had no intentions on going. Obsessively magnetic.

This is the first time I’m talking about it.

Later, we ran to Montrose Avenue. It was the only place in all of Brooklyn where we felt safe. I remember the tears, the disappointment, then the anger and finally the breakup.​ ​We were so young, I mean what did we know about love? And speaking of, can we really call it that? I guess to some extent, yes​​. And til this day, I have some type of feeling ​​regulated by ​Grecian principled love – agape. But why am I even here? Why am I talking about this? I don’t know, I guess I was on the train this morning and something reminded me of ​that bench, that bus stop, across the street from McDonald’s, by the mailbox, and ​that time right before Montrose Avenue.

One thought on “Montrose Avenue

  1. Love this, we’ve all have been there, at least you’re bold enough to speak about it. It’s hard to speak about things like this without the asssumption by others that your heart is still there. Thanks for this!


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