Mercer

One late night in Chelsea, in a quiet living room while everyone sleeps, you sit staring at twilight over your beloved Manhattan monoliths: the city is so beautiful lately it's painful, it pulls out all the stops for you and you accept without question. The pillars of support around you mobilize; your heart grows beyond the chasms that cut through it, beyond the lead that sits in your chest and you smile despite yourself. I sang today so the walls shook, but at the end of each day, my mind is silent. A dictator grins on the screen; everything is relative.

There's an answer that eludes you. But it is out there. You carry the question gently in trembling hands, put one foot in front of the other, remind yourself to breathe. I remain. And when I let myself sit and look at it, everything is still magic.