13.1

Around mile four, the sun set over New Jersey. The evening was cool, and gentle, the plaza brimming with romantic strolls and just one more effort to capture the particular peaches and pinks that sink into the ocean on August evenings. At mile six, a familiar view of midtown from the west side sparkled and glimmered in the twilight as if to remind me what this was all for (I do anything to stay here, to earn you, that's what it's all for and we both know it), before I turned around to head back home again. At mile nine, my legs grew weary, pleading with my brain to calculate remaining distance and admit the futility of the effort, give up. My brain knew that if it took a second to think, it would never get back up on the damn horse, so better to hold on tight to the goal and carry on.

By mile ten, I had stopped thinking. There was only the next step, now, there was only the familiar sights of bridges to Brooklyn, of black waves in the East River and the comforting weave around scattered tourists. Somewhere around mile eleven, a full moon came out from behind the clouds, as if casually offering support it would rather have given enthusiastically. It carried me the rest of the way.

After thirteen miles, the promenade was dark and mostly quiet. My steps slowed, I stopped to look at the full moon and consider obstacles, consider determination. The music in my ears was happy,  the blood in my veins giddy, I longed for the ocean to tell it my joys but the waters were busy caressing the moon and I couldn't blame them. A new day lies ahead, like an open book, like I get to write the pages of my own life, like I clawed myself into the life of my dreams and now here I am, now what?

That's the thing about dreams, after all.

Once you've caught them, you're already chasing the next.