M Train

The J train came, the Z. I waited on the platform, such bright sunshine, knowing full well the M would come. The first moment alone since I arrived. New York at my feet (New York is at nobody's feet) and where should I go first? Content just to get on the M, ride out the stations, recognize the sounds of their names. Changing trains at West 4th. As though not a day had passed.

Perhaps you have to get away for a bit to appreciate it; to see the city again and not be blind to it. The little child sleeps in his stroller, oblivious to all the noise... I try to feel, I try to muster up some emotion, but it's not there. Like in the brain study, looking at a picture and trying to fake emotion.

But what emotion is home? It's not. It's baseline. It is you.

"You" doesn't need reflection. That's the luxury of being.

I got off on 23rd street, called a familiar voice. Turned a familiar corner. As though not a day had passed. The spirit of New York courses through your veins. It is you.