I Was Prepared

A storm passes over the island. You run across Broadway to meet him in the rain, oh how Saturdays lie sad in New York City and you want to do away with all the cluttering people in your way. Your phone buzzes with unknown feelings and you cannot make sense of the turmoil in your chest, along your skin.

But he puts it so simply into words; you look him eagerly (earnestly) in the eyes and realize that from this giant mad man come the answers for which you've been desperately scrambling for weeks. Perhaps it's the warm thunder outside, perhaps it's the miles that lie between, no matter. The only thing you can do is try. Whatever will be, will be.

Your only job
is to be there, when it does.