You wake too early, six a.m. and the borough is still dark, still quiet. Like a dog lying in wait, your cough springs to life at your open eyelids, it is too late to pretend you are still asleep. Turn on the string of lights winding around your houseplants, let yourself linger in bed. Walk to the pier just as the sun rises, watch orange of the Staten Island ferry streak across the Statue of Liberty, a plane descending to Newark beyond.
There was a time when every airplane you saw in the sky made you long to fly away. When every departure was a reminder that you were going nowhere. I don't feel that way anymore.
It occurs to you that maybe some breaks can be mended, some chasms can be filled. It occurs to you that maybe you're doing better
than you think.
No comments:
Post a Comment