We careen down second avenue in the early morning, keys to an old apartment left on the kitchen counter and the promising jangle of keys to a new one in her lap. The west village turned to face us with beaming November sunlight and trickling yellow gingko leaves on the little street, like it was made for this moment, like it had been waiting to give it to her. I parked my car underneath her fire escape and remembered just how it felt to move to the neighborhood all those years ago, to turn down a dreamy, tree-lined street and feel like I was home. I never thought I could live here, she says, and we both take a moment to sink in something so good from the Universe. He writes to say Central Park was beautiful today and we decide to let him prove it. The neighbors upstairs have a party. I start to hallucinate things along the sides of my vision.
It's quite possible for bad things and good to happen at the same time. Quite possible to feel joy even when one is so sad.
There's no great answer there. Sometimes the world spins on, without them.
No comments:
Post a Comment