Lift

The street is quiet as you run down the stairs; it's the only time of day there's any peace and you would savor the moment if you weren't half asleep. The car winds its way through lower Manhattan, navigates SoHo cobblestones and dives into the tunnel. You never take a car -- the ride reminds you of teary goodbyes and a reluctance to look back. You delight now in the ease of transit, the lightness of your carry-on. The sun glitters on the glass houses as you lift off. Children of today know a different skyline; the city's existence is fluid. You love it a million new ways every day, and you cannot wait to tell it. You wonder how many times you will leave it. 

How many times you will come back.