In Bloom

There were ambitions and things to get done. But the quick stop on a Williamsburg rooftop turned into a glass of wine that lasted all afternoon, as conversation turned to tears and the questions we are left with in the wake. In the warm spring sun we shivered, but perhaps it was only the wind.

Later that night, we sat on the fire escape and watched the setting sun trickle in from the Hudson River, settling on the pear blossoms that line the streets like a blizzard lately. Again we found ourselves trying to make sense of the lives around us, the ones we share and the ones we don't. When the night got too chilly, we crawled through the creaking window and poured green tea into bowls (there are no mugs, yet). It scares me so much. And the questions didn't really find any new answers, but perhaps they never will.

But how sweet it is, to have those souls into whom one can pour one's dark matter, one's broken heart and troubled nerves. It makes the floral giggles and happy blossoms that much sweeter to inhale. Literally, too.

I walked down Bleecker Street, soft street lights guiding my way past the neverending flood of taxi cabs. The same air flows through us, the same blood. The same city nestles its way into our hearts, and we are powerless to stop it.

When sticky green buds open into brand new lives, though, who would want to?