Bookends

I rub deep sleep from my eyes, stare out the kitchen window at the bridge in its afternoon sunlight splendor, and the coffee seeps in the french press. Knowing I should be hung over, but not. Stretching slowly, enjoying the sensation of my body waking up, I feel ready for another night, another adventure.

I stumbled home madly last night, the long, cold walk like a Sunday stroll in the park to my intoxicated legs, and I walked the whole way home with a great big smile on my face. My city, my sweet little city, so quiet at two in the morning, and I didn't meet a single person. The full moon shone over the apartment where my parents first moved in together, with their view of the docks and their young love. It shone over all my old haunts, my old apartment, my old life. How could I not giggle and dance along the tram tracks?

Sitting at our old bar, the entire night was in fact one big giggle. I rediscovered my old nook under their wings, and I snuggled in as tightly as I possibly could. How simple, how delicious, the unconditional love that made me who I am, that built me up from my pile of ashes and let me fly off in search of the Dream.

Unaware of any of the people around us, we looked each other deeply in the eyes, tears slowly trickling behind fluttering eyelids, and I laughed. I gave all this up. So convinced New York was worth the sacrifice. The more you give up to get there, the more it is worth. I have never been more sure, my choice was the right one.