Tumble

The great darkness descends upon me.

It seems too soon. It is only September. It is still warm in the afternoon, I still have a tan line on my hips, did I not swim laps in their backyard pool today, it is too soon. Perhaps it was your voice in my ears; I should have known better than to listen to it, it vibrates through my insides, I am reminded of deceit and the uncertainty of the footing beneath us. The hour is late but I want to never sleep. I want to make large pots of coffee and scream across the typewriter keys. The floor is covered in debris already, I can barely make it across the room to get out. Tomorrow looms like a threat on the horizon. Days to come, and days to follow, one after another. Do not be fooled. Our only redemption is art.

I felt such an immense comfort tonight, crossing the George Washington Bridge again, landing safely on island ground and coasting down the West Side Highway toward the cluster of skyscrapers in the south. I rode the southbound one train through its innards, felt the warm air of the metropolis sift slowly through my lungs. I thought to myself I never want to leave, and I knew in my heart it was true.

Your voice can't reach me here. It can't hurt me, like it did.

This city will drown you out,
too.