Maybe

Instant rain, a flash flood warning and canvas shoes floating off down the streets, everyone is caught by the same surprise and with a sunset this glorious we have to only laugh. The alarm clock glares at me as the hours while away, I prepare my piles and control the fallout: a number counts down on my wrist. Who will you be when nothing remains? 

Sunday mornings were made for lazy breakfasts and minibar vodkas, we stare into the sun and reminisce about the East Village like we put in the time and I try to forget my search history of other boroughs' apartment listings. She says your name like you are family, it is a gift, but you put in the time there too and that kind of love knows no infidelity. I sat in a factory window later, watching the summer evening play across the entire city, and I wondered how I could ever have been so lucky to call it home, to feel it in my bones that it is mine. One day you will feel love like this and you'll wonder how you ever settled for anything else. 

Oh

how I hope one day

you will.