Will you come stay with me, she crackles over the line, a weeks worth of hospital chair sleeps finally breaking across her temples. I got a room at a hotel up the street.
You make your way back to the upper east side, this strange anomaly of a neighborhood you forget is on your map of New York City, stop in at the hospital and walk laps around the corridors with him, gossiping about the nurses and digesting possible futures. By the time you reach the hotel room, she sleeps. You tip toe your way to the bed by the window, shimmy into crisp, white sheets and think, so much of what we encounter in life we could’ve never guessed would happen.
New York lies comfortingly outside the window, lulls you to sleep, lulls you to peace the kind you’ve only ever felt here. The west calls to you, the world calls to you, but only New York can bring you home with a whisper.
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