Hannah Miet's Page

It made me think about not eating, and about subway maps and envelopes that are sealed but still need stamps. I thought, “I live inside of waves” and “I don’t really live anywhere.” The letter made me sad.



The letter was from a time when I posed in the center of photographs. Before I preferred to be the shadow in the distance, casting darkness onto the subjects, or the sparkle in their eyes. Their secret.

It’s cleaner now that I don’t have to file it all in folders. But I like… Continue

It was one of those years when I was always broke. When my feet felt out of sync with the world, or at least the midday traffic. When I thought that every 6 train and alarm clock and bus blocking a pedestrian walkway had a personal vendetta against my heart.



At lunchtime, the smoothie stand filled to the brim with suits, becoming a four-walled closet of briefcases and Blackberries, forced smiles and frustrated sighs and checked and re-checked watches, cologne and condescention and… Continue

On mornings when even the internet is quiet, I let ice cubes melt on the tip of my tongue and eat real food, the kind you have to warm in the oven while listening to NPR.



Sometimes I think I’ve met every person on Earth, but their lips moved without sound, and sometimes the air tastes comfortably lonely, like fat people without plans to diet, or college grads who can’t sell themselves in a sentence, or joggers or liars or stoners with trust funds or people whose sheets match their… Continue

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