The Way You Are

Spring arrives to the island, and it overwhelms and impresses you as much this year as any before. You sit on the roof, drinking wine and staring out over the sprinkled West Village buildings, wondering if the big decisions you're making are the right ones. I'll miss this neighborhood so much, you say, but you do not yet entirely believe you'll ever leave it. Walk carefully through a sunny apartment on numbered streets and try to picture your books stacked in the first room on the right, see if you recognize your face in the mirror. 

My sister comes to town, reminds me of all the wrongs I insist on perpetuating, of the havoc I seem so intent to wreak. I only wanted rights, you know, but they evade me at every step. 

It occurs to me that the only thing I ever got right was this City. As long as you stay in its embrace, how could you ever go wrong?