Re:Set

The days pass, my computer still silent and cold on the floor, awaiting spare parts and encouragement. I spend the time anxiously pacing, reading books and watching television, trying to remember what's to be done in an analog world. Every day a commute, a job, but at the back of my spine the sense that I long for something. I realize eventually that it is words I miss, the way one misses an old friend or lover. I long for them with that delicious sense that distance creates when you know it is not lost forever. New York dances with ink, and it softens the dreary, wintered city. The computer parts arrive; the laptop lights up again as though we were never apart.

Do you know I wake up every morning happy? That no matter the early hour, I rise smiling because I am here, because outside this courtyard window, New York rises with me and follows my every move? That I sleep every night a heavy luscious sleep full of words and stories and irreverent potential? It is hard to compete with that.

And I no longer wish you had tried.