The dog wakes me early, we venture out to the river while the Village still lies sleeping. There's a cool breeze, but the sun was up way before us, the pavement is warm. It must officially be spring, we ran through Central Park in a giggle yesterday and every patch of earth was filled to the brim with flowers. The new year is brutal in its beauty, it forces itself into your every broken crevice and you think, for a moment, you are invincible. But your roommate goes to Connecticut, and in the silence she leaves behind, your every bandage unravels, your bones break and your innards spill across the unwashed floors. The news feed claims Jesus died for my sins, but I think if he knew me, he'd let the dead dog lie.
There's a reason this city is home, you know. There's a reason I sleep soundly when the currents of a metropolis tumble every face into an unknown and keep no relationships moored around my belly. When subway trains arrive at the platform, I like to stand really close to the edge, close my eyes, and let myself get knocked back by the rushing air at their sides. But the thought of you holding my hand makes it feel like that air is getting sucked right back out of my lungs again, and the whole beautiful city gets taken from me in one fell swoop.
Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not easy to contend with a magical city.
It's not easy to hold on to someone who is so hellbent on falling apart.
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