Let's Exist Somewhere Outside This Room

Saturday, August 5, 2017




Let's go to New York. 
There, we will be so overwhelmed by the sheer physicality of the city that our own bodies will pale in comparison. There won't be a "her," or "him," or last month, or last year. The moment we met will not exist in New York, and so maybe we will stand a chance. We can force ourselves to get out of bed and do something for once because in New York, as soon as you walk outside you are part of a whirring, humming machine. The streets will be ours to roam, and you will not have to ask me what I want to do. We will just arrive-galleries, shops, museums. We will climb to the tops of buildings and I will gasp and you will understand my breathlessness. We will eat breakfast at ungodly hours for a morning ritual, in dingy diners with burned-out bulbs, and you will listen while I weave outrageous tales about the other customers. We will look at pictures and paintings and imagine splattering our hearts out onto canvas the way those much braver than ourselves have done. We are not brave. But we are in New York, so it does not matter. We will fold pizza slices bigger than our heads into open mouths, toss back drinks with our heels hooked on barstools and we will not, under any circumstances, cut our noodles when eating pasta. We will be the shadows catching the corner of everyone's eye as we pass by on the sidewalk, a blur of black denim and worn leather and dark hair. They might even think we were someone, someone they should know, if my legs were a little longer. You will hold my hand when the sun drops, not because you want to, but because you are afraid the streets will yank me away and you are faultlessly protective. I will like it because I am inherently selfish and want everyone to know my eyes are the ones that get to dance with yours. That, and I like it when you touch me. 
New York City will be good for us because we never get to bed on time. There, we will be on the right side of the clock, awake at 3 am, watching lights twinkle and cars rush. In the morning I will wake up before you, like I always do, and venture out. It will be refreshing, to see the sun shine through leaves and watch people hurrying to their real lives. I will walk between them, an apparition, and they will not notice me in your sweatpants. I'll get coffee and bagels and plop triumphantly back onto the bed (in New York I will know what bagel you want, I will know everything about you and never look away). We will have a whole other day and night and day and night and day and night ahead of us, and we will not talk of apologies or what's next or what lies behind sticky doors. That's not what New York is for. We will be happy, happy, happy. In New York, we will let everyone else do the seriousness of living life with consequences and we will be happy, happy, happy.
Easy.






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