Hiatus

Battery Park City was lush and still, and the sun set over the Miami Vice skyline on the New Jersey side of the water. Glass walls shone in peach and pink, the clouds were the stuff of paintings, cartoons. Perfection.

Our steps meandered across the artificial small-town feel of the riverside, past the luxury yachts and the palm trees in the Winter Garden, through the tales of our hearts. How immense the distance, when storms arise. How tears and voices never can rival the power of my skin against yours, your cheek against mine.

By the time we made our way back toward the Village, the city was dark, the piers empty. Our steps a little lighter, our minds cleared. For now, our troubles were left at the end of the island, slowly drifting out to sea.