In August

Asocial isolation ends with a bang, much sooner than expected. Every night is a new round of margaritas in the velvet evenings, and you stumble home to your messy room and fall asleep with your clothes in another pile on the floor. You see yourself building a life in New York, again, starting at the bottom with the scattered bricks that remain from previous attempts and glueing the base with endless optimism and maybe this time it's all different. Perhaps without ignorance you would simply resign yourself to passing out in the mud, so you allow it to create your futures for you.

They write you from their new life, with a void the size of New York City in their chests, and they do not yet know how to fill it with anything else. How long ago it seems now that the City was new and our every step on its pavement delicate. Now you walk like you are invincible and can never fall off. It seems an impossible prize. Try not to think about it. He sends you pictures of sunset over the open sea, but you no longer know what it means.

All you know is concrete.
All you need is here.