Ode

How strange it is, that the time passes and moods shift. That a day as beautifully radiant as yesterday can create a ball of darkness within, whereas the cold gray rain of today still managed to tickle my earlobes and make my step light. Remembering that it is a blessing to be alive. (Remembering, that tomorrow it will no longer be November.)

The forage into the literary voyages of journals past continues. It reminds me of my gratitude at being here. Of what a jewel this city is. New York, you were worth every day's longing. I had so many dreams and expectations upon coming here,the city couldn't possibly live up to them. And then I decided to move here again, and people told me the very same thing. What if it isn't all you've dreamed? How can that city ever live up to all the hopes you have for it? It is only a city, after all.

But the thing is, it is all I've dreamed. At the end of the day, no matter how I feel or where my life is at the moment, the city never disappoints me. Not for one minute do I regret having come here, having put my life and my heart on the line to try to sneak in just a few more months, weeks, days in the safe arms of the city. My home, the place where my heart hums and my soul reels with Existance. Here I am and I can't go. I can't leave.

If I can only remind myself to live in the Now, then I think I will be alright. If I remember to enjoy what is, not to worry about what may come ahead. Those old journals, they whisper of a dream that I would one day return, in whatever manner I could, barely daring to think of it because it seemed so implausible. But here I am. If nothing else, here I am. The cigarettes taste better in New York. It's the little things, that make all the difference.