Straight Priorities

The New York night abandoned its incessant raining, and we forged ahead into the Saturday night depths. Whatever became of the mad night, none of it was more important than the steady reminder of the worth of friendship. Of how lovely it is to simply sit on the floor of a room that fits no more than our bodies but still envelopes our entire souls. Of how warming the giggles are that pierce through the St Mark's din. Of that sometimes ditching a cab in favor of a few more avenues of silly comraderie is worth it, in the end.

My feet are tired, my smile. The bars closed and the people slowly made their way homewards, as I paced the last few steps to my quiet, quiet street in the Village. I remember that I am who I am because they were there to mould me, or perhaps simply to let me be who I was. I remember the shell of a girl who trembled at every gust of wind before she let them hold her steady. I remember what a difference their presence made in my life then, and know that it still does now.


If it wasn't for them, I would not have gone to New York, in the first place. I wouldn't have dared think that this world was mine for the taking. There is no repaying such a debt. I do what I can, to try.