Yesterday, I told my therapist about the man on the corner of 23rd and Park.



                    I hesitate to call him homeless.
Since he’s been there for three years, maybe more...?


That corner of sidewalk isn’t just where he sleeps, it's where he lives.





Every time I walk Loki,
I see him.
Always reading.
Not a beggar, not a presence that demands anything.
Just a man with a book,
a newspaper,
once an Italian-English dictionary.
Lately, it’s Spanish.




Once, I bought him a sandwich.
He didn’t take it.
Didn’t even look up, just kept his eyes on the paper,
shook his head and said, “No need.”





I stood there for a moment,
                          still holding the sandwich.
                                                                      I wanted to say something.
But I couldn’t, and I didn’t.
                                        I walked away.






My therapist asked why I brought him up.
I paused, then said:
“If I had to put it into words…
I think my emotional availability is a bit like being homeless.”




Always drifting.
No fixed address.
No safe place to stay for too long.




But unlike him, I haven’t made peace with it.
He’s turned transience into routine,
built a kind of stability out of nothing.
And me, I’m still pretending mine doesn’t exist.
Still trying to frame it as “just a phase,” or “I’ve just been busy.”




The truth is, I hand out little pieces of care like that sandwich
not because I’m sure it’s needed,
but because I don’t know what else to offer.









And when he refused it,
I realized something I hadn’t said out loud:
He’s freer than I am.








I leave the door slightly open in relationships
just enough to feel like I’m trying.
But meanwhile,
I’m changing the locks behind their backs,
installing silent alarms,
reinforcing the windows.
Keeping everyone away.







My emotions are a long-term, unpermitted construction site.
It leaks when it rains.
It sways when the wind hits.

But I still smile, still say:
“Don’t worry. My place is pretty warm.”



















Notes From Above-Ground