city, my love for you is not going away. ours is a kind of love that gives and only takes what’s necessary to live—as my lungs need oxygen to breathe, feeding my body, silently, gently.
happiness is not about place. neither is freedom. and love. place is about experience and how we can keep building our narratives with these varying landscapes but with the same purpose: to live.
novelty, newness, is always here—so why leave, they ask. why turn away from your freedom? i am free anywhere. the city has taught me that.
this city is a lover that never disappoints. and like all lovers—it demands full surrender. three days before i reclaim myself again.
the storm brewing is a renewal. summers in the city can light up the falling sky.
city, i can leave your lovers and dreamers because they’ll always be like the moon.
i’m having a hard time letting go. little by little, i’m trying to ignore your sunsets.
goodbye my love, the keyboardist and trumpet player sings at union square. everyone who has lived has been broken.
at this new place, temporary and beautiful, trains dive in and out of darkness, both rivers love the skyline and bridges as much as i have wanted this freedom.
the dust that builds in places we take for granted. like my heart, which i’m taking back to smooth and refinish with a deep cherry lacquer. i’ll return, dear city.