chrissy.city

my city, my rules

Category: Gigi

  • Quiet Attempts

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    Sometimes I read a poem about something ordinary (like the description of an orange) and feel nothing. I catch myself judging it, as though its ordinariness is offensive. Then, I think about my own writing: its smallness, my quiet attempts to matter. I imagine someone reading my words and feeling the same thing I felt.…

  • Lemongrass Face Smooshes

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    My walks with Gigi are not always perfect. She’s a terrier I haven’t taken the proper care to train, and because of that, she barks at every single damn dog she sees. It’s a nuisance, really.

  • it’s December

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    I wake up with my hands wrapped around his stomach like a seatbelt. I can hear Gigi fidgeting in her crate when I open my eyes to not the kind of darkness that tells you it’s okay to keep sleeping, but the kind of darkness that hints at a sunrise pending. Nothing’s particularly different or…