Home

The weather turns, cold winds blow from the north and change is on the rapidly approaching horizon. We've spent some time, quite some time now, in blissful nostalgia, old pieces in their right places, and how easy it's been to pretend they weren't ever broken, how sweet. But goodbyes always come in the end, and you stand on a frozen Brooklyn street corner figuring out how best to say them. The answer, it turns out, is as though they are just another piece.

Because after all, have you not also left, have you not been on the receiving end of encouragement and through inescapable sadness known somehow that goodbyes are no more than see you soons? This jagged edge, this piece that doesn't seem you had planned will also fit, eventually.

I rode the J train back over the bridge, back to Empire State Buildings and Chrysler spires, back to a warm, dirty jumbled East Village home, back to the piece that I squeezed gratefully into its crooked slot and made fit again. I thought I have never seen a more beautiful sight, but I think that every time. I have never loved you more than I do now.

I mean it every time.