The theater emptied quietly. Thursday night, there were only a handfull of patrons there. Besides, it had been running for a while. We parted ways on Broadway, she found a cab quickly while I pulled my clothes tighter, tried to catch my breath. The New York night was freezing again. Stiff fingers tried desperately to roll a cigarette, finally I had to stop in the street. I stuck my trembling hands in my coat pockets and smoked with the cigarette resting between my lips all the way down west 10th.
The film stayed with me as I walked home. It heightened every sense. I heard the steady beat of my heels against the concrete, it echoed against the quiet townhouse bricks and reassured me. Lights strung in trees seemed to shine brighter, the cold was sharper. People walking past didn't affect me. I felt a dance move in me, every muscle tensed, relaxed, twisted and leapt, my eyes alert. Battles of a dark heart and a frail mind, or perhaps the opposite, dueling and teasing within me.
I suppose the story was not new. I suppose the insight was not revealing. We already have the answers within us. We already know what they say. The magic lies in having those feelings stirred anew.
I felt it.
Perfect.
I was perfect.
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