My Time
by Joanna Gilman Hyde
My time in bed is
My time alone listening:
French music, wind, birds
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My time in bed is
My time alone listening:
French music, wind, birds
Joanna Gilman Hyde 
On the eve of my 49th birthday, I found your lovely words. I sit here, heart pounding with pain, she’s in the other room. 20 years of trying so hard, all falling apart before my eyes. Your words comforted me tonight, if only the tiniest bit.
I watched you speak on that rooftop and was transfixed. I grew up in NY and used to ride my bike around the WTC as a kid while staying with my grandad in the Village. He knew about everything artistic happening in the city, and I thought how great! I bet he read about this rooftop painting when it happened. I sure miss the optimism of those days.
I hope you’re still making art.
Do eye know you? Thank you for your lovely comment.
No. I’m a random person who found you even more randomly just tonight. I feel, though, that if we met we would be sure we had already.
Eye love that feeling