Begin

There’s a curve in the river, just north of Tappan-Zee bridge, where you see the skyline of Manhattan bobble its peaks like stalagmites in the distance. Unconsciously, I take a deep breath and the space between my shoulder blades softens.

Coming back to New York is a wonder, every time. It is a reminder that I have gone through fire and survived, that I have been shattered but my pieces are all put back together, I am more glue than original parts and now that glue is me. Coming back to New York is soft kisses on scraped summer knees, is trust falls and ice cold Coca-Cola on a grueling sunny day, coming back to New York is someone saying I see your glue let us not pretend it is not there, you are more glue than original parts and why don’t you take your shoes off, stay awhile?

The train is cool, my legs are brown. A hurricane looms on the horizon, a catastrophic fall waits in the wings, if the jumbled Manhattan skyline can make my jagged pieces seem to fit with ease, who am I to argue? I am so tired of arguing, mi amor, I am ready to run my fingertips over these jigsaw pieces and feel only the smoothness, how well they fit together after all, see how I’ve taken my shoes off
when
will it be you
who stays?