Early morning dances in the east village: one enthusiastic street sweeper, a handful of seasoned unruffled feathers, a sprinkling of young project managers, direction the choreography. I settle into a spot down the block, closer to my own stoop than maybe ever before, think what a strange journey this life and marvel at almost 15 years in this town. Do you know I grew up without a home? Do you know I read books about rootlessness and think I remember that, no longer in pain or fear, just in curious observation. My accent changes with the latitudes, my smile alters with the crook in your eyebrow. Adapting is all I know how to do. The apartment is still available, he writes, and I clear my schedule to see it again. You do not keep home waiting. You do not waste another moment.
Do you know, when I first met you, I thought the same thing.
He says drinks at seven? and it no longer hurts me to say yes.
The shifts are minute
only until
they are monumental.
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