Block.

I stare at the screen. Scroll back over the pages. Read passages I adore, passages I can't stand to see, and consider where to begin. I can't tackle the ending, it breaks my heart. But after a few hours of strikethroughs, it seems I cannot tackle any other part either. Frustrated, I resign myself and whisper Tomorrow, but it makes me feel no better about today.

I took a long walk through the neighborhood today, to visit a friend in Chelsea. Walked through the projects and remembered how those exact streets had looked four years ago when we went there for a gallery stroll. I know them so well, now. I weaved through Saturday afternoon traffic until I got to the edges of the Meatpacking District, those few corners that are still seedy, dirty, decrepid. I love them. Then navigating through the maze that is the West Village, over the cobblestones, back to my beautiful Morton Street, to my New York City home.

Some days, New York appears more enchanted than others. Some days, simply by existing, by showing me streets I have not seen for a while, it reminds me of its magic, of its sweet secrets waiting to be uncovered. On days like that, all that has been can be easily forgotten, all the bad wiped away and I remember again why I came.

I don't know how I'll ever be able to leave.