Nevermind

Suburban mall, rainy day, nothing out of the ordinary, the subway runs on rush hour schedules, it's seamless. And at the end of the row of clothing chains, on a couch, such a bright collection of shining faces, such a strange scene, New York arrives to the old motherland, and it feels as not a day passed since I saw you last.

Dinner continues, conversation drifts from updates to adoring jabs to dreams of a future together again. For a second at a time, I allow myself to remember feelings long suppressed; they lunge at my core and stab my senses, I tremble at the edge of the wooden table, cannot look at your face. This will all end in tears, you said, I never forgot that, and you had no idea how right you'd be. Nor did I.

Only moments ago, we sat in that whitewashed factory in Brooklyn, then too as though not a day had passed, the JMZ rocked comfortably across the Williamsburg Bridge and carried me home, always home, always reliable, steady, that city does not disappoint in steadfastness, and there we built our dreams. I assembled my bricks, my mortar, with you in it, with brownstone and cab yellow streaks, with ruthless winter winds and glittering forty-second street lights. Around this wooden dinner table I lose my breath, I forget the motions, my lungs pierced by desire long denied, but so barely forgotten, I stumble.

Who would have known
how bittersweet this would taste.

I swallow it whole. Should I ever forget, the way my eyes giggle, my stomach turns, thinking of you, there'll be nothing left of me, at all.