Slipping now

Port Authority, seven am on a Saturday when the bums still own it and its grimy sadness is not yet ruffled by the happy glitz of a disneyfied 42nd street; I know this hall too well by now, we walked it too many times to forget and here is where we pretended to have a fight because we thought we mattered to each other. I’m going to my sister’s, don’t call me, except this sister is a bottomless well in a college town, see if I care.

Cross over into Jersey, remember what it was like to see the skyline through another’s eyes; the suburbs are suddenly lush, wet, encroaching. The city is trying so hard to comfort me lately, it glitters and smiles, remains steadfast and reassuring, but I am not ready for its embrace I cried before we’d even left the Bronx. There is no shame, these are only feelings; you turned out to be human but you can take it back.

The rain picks up as you near the northeast. You no longer sleep. There’s a tequila shot with your name on it but a tiny light at the back of your heart with somebody else’s. You hold it carefully as you barrel into oblivion. Wonder what things will look like on the other side.