I'm Not There

How long a Tuesday night can become, such an innocent day and laundry waiting in my sister's basement. One glass in and I was too tired, the world still seemed impossible, where do you go when there is no place that is yours, what do you do when there is no pocket of life in which to toil?

We said goodbye at that same street corner, do you remember, it was months ago now and Stockholm was an unknown adventure in the making. I only barely knew my direction then and now the streets were so calm, so comforting. My heart bubbled with pride over you and I forgot the words for it.

The bar was quiet, Tuesday night quiet, it made the glasses hum at the music. There was a moment, perhaps it was just the beer, where I thought, this is better than a concert, when Bob Dylan vibrated heavy along the old wooden bar, and I wanted to lie on it, sleep until the songs were still and dawn was new, no intrusions to disturb my slumber.

New York, honey. I miss your heavy bars and humming sleep. Your warm Tuesday nights and comforting streets. New York, I miss that place which was mine.