Stepped Outside

My teeth ache. They grind themselves to pulp in the night when I cannot convince them otherwise. I walk to work with a scowl. Spend the nights with a dark cloud along my brow. I try to know why but clarity eludes me. The days are too often muddled. 

We sat on the stoop last night, drinking the season's first champagne and eating strawberries. I chain smoked deep curling drags into the heavy air and passersby could not help themselves but comment on the appeal of our feast. We spoke of the packed bags in her apartment, of what it meant to leave New York. 

But I won't accept that all is lost and over just because we are making a change, she said. New York is our home, the restaurants may change over the years but we will always know these streets. If whatever comes next is so awful, we can always come back. 

We sat a long time on that stoop. We spoke of life, and grief, and futures. Neighbors came and went, stepping lightly around the spread, and when the time came to part I was more than a little intoxicated. Perhaps it was the last time we had drinks on the stoop together. 

But it doesn't mean all is lost.