The modern world does another double take, swings around and picks up the remains of suffering souls, figures out a way to give us at least the closest possible proximation to what we've been starved of. We sit in a digital room full of strangers, rubbing sleep out of our eyes around an open mic on a Friday morning, do you remember when New York was New York and we would rub shoulders instead, when we would stumble home late in the night drunk on the buzz of what magic was plucked out of the air?
The thing is, we may think we have forgotten, but it's not true. New York is still New York and it'll shape shift again a thousand times, we take the buzz where we can get it, and we can get it. Spring returns, life returns, do you know we made it through the darkness, do you know we're getting to the end of these woods and we haven't lost one thing without gaining another. New York is still New York, but different, you are still you, but changed.
Just hold on a little longer. Write all your stories. Pluck the magic out of the air, it's still there.
You are still here.
No comments:
Post a Comment