Mercy

Summer arrives. Throngs of residents and tourists stream out of tall buildings and populate the flower beds, the smell of air conditioning permeates lobbies and offices. I leave work in the early afternoon with nothing ahead but freedom, it’s a beautiful gift and I carry it gently. Board a ferry to Staten Island and watch the city twinkle from afar; it looks like a mirage. Twelve years I have known this little plot of land, this maze of streets, this jungle of dreams; twelve years I have known it and I have never loved it more than I do now. There were honeymoons and overs, there was heartbreak and hesitation but honey we always came back to one another, I always believed the magic would still be there.

As the ferry returned to Battery Park, past the statue that tells you you are home, swerving around the edge of Brooklyn and depositing us back on land where I can breathe, I felt a peace in my chest that I knew would carry me through. You have to work at love.

But it helps to believe in magic.