Eve

Traditions return, the city empties out. Like so many years before, I find myself scaling the bridge at dusk, too early for twilight and that magic wash of color you know will come, but still. 

But still. 

Turning around halfway across, carefully treading onto the bicycle lanes, stand to look at the city. The jumble of buildings, each piece insignificant perhaps, barely recognizable on its own, but all together they create a skyline that soothes your senses, that build inside you a feeling of being complete, of being one whole person, built from years of individual pieces which in their entirety make you who you are.
You are not without the pieces, 

but you only are because of the whole of them together.

For a short moment, the late afternoon sun breaks through, scattering little bands of peach and ice blue across the glass buildings of midtown and near Queens, flecks of gold on south Williamsburg, that strange depth on brick which reminds you the city is enormous and never-ending, containing multitudes, that you are but a small piece and yet indispensable.


I thought I had loved before I came here, I thought I knew the expanse of my heart and just how large it could stretch but I have learned I knew nothing. I have learned that the heart is a muscle without limits, I have learned that love is a magic that knows no ends, as I walked back down the long slow slope back to the safe warm nook on my island, twilight arrived and changed the whole city again. I stray, sometimes, I sit too long in late afternoon dusk and forget just what lies beneath.

But don’t worry. The city will remind you when the time is right. And it'll be not like you were never lost, but like you were lost

and found your way home again.