I Want to Be a Part of You

(New York)

Funny how the same song can sound so different, depending on your mood when you hear it. How last night it made me unendingly sad, removed, and today I hear it and think, but I am here. I imagine if I would have sat in that old apartment in the other city and listened to it, how sad I would be to not be here. Remembering a time when I unpacked my belongings, listened to Fidelity, and cried floods of longing for the city I'd left.

How sweet it is, not to long. How sweet it is not to have that aching yearning in my heart, that incessant feeling of something torn apart within, healing crookedly and easily ripped up again. How sweet it is, to lay my head on my pillow each night, knowing that I rest here, in my City.

I ran along the water, a slight drizzle coating my cheeks and the piers almost empty in the black stillness before Thanksgiving day, and I thought how it reminded me of running along the harbor back home. But how much warmer, somehow.

New York is like home, only better.