Seldom Told

Ninety-five degrees and about as much humidity. The air runs like treacle down Hudson Street as you make your way to the corner for another goodbye. There's too many of them now, you feel weak at the knees, your stomach in knots but you try deal with it like you were strong, infallible. Reluctant to pack your own bags, you wait until it's late and there's no telling what will be there when you arrive on the other side. A violent thunder storm runs across the town, the airports crumble in its wake and you nervously check the forecast, pray you will make it out.

But I walked in the rain to the drugstore, later. The edge of the storm had set the sunset on fire over the river, bathing the Village in a surreal, orange glow. The streets were quiet, hesitant, the Freedom tower lingering in the distance. I thought how grateful I am that this city is mine. That when those dearest to me leave, it does not. That even though I go, however reluctantly, the city will remain and await my return.

That knowing this city will be here waiting,
makes the pain in your chest
just a little lighter
to bear.