Sekretess

The weekends twirl and toss, remind you of a life Before, a life when you rushed from one commitment to the next, and I sit on the subway home from Bushwick late in the evening, texting neighbors for spontanous rendez-vous in summer-buggy back yards, what is September in New York if not the true delights of summer, all blue skies and movies in the park. I stumble home at midnight, hickups and giggles taking turns, I nod at the little station wagon, I swipe left on everything I see, because do you know that nothing so far has delighted me more than life on these streets. I watch home improvement shows from the homeland and wonder if I will ever walk that land again. How strange life, that the more days we live, the more doors we've closed. There was a time when everything was open windows. 

I go to bed late and cannot sleep. 

There's a message in there, if you'll hear it.