On Pride

We've decided not to renew the contract. We leave New York next year. The bar seems tainted by his words; the sawdust is thin on the ground and unsatisfying. You have such few constants in your life. You eschew their importance. But now the loss hits your breast bone like a missile.

She sent a photograph early this morning, a black and white portrait of a life brand new. She said all's well that ends well, and now she's here. You count down the hours, the minutes until you can hold her tiny body in yours. Count down the hours until those lives that seem so far away will be suddenly near.

I walked down East 4th street today, staring straight into the sun. Summer wins you over eventually, every time. The sunlight burns straight through your skin, warms your aching heart. Weather is your only constant. You live and die by its word.

Pretend the same does not go
for those you carry in your heart.