top of the met, nyc.
i never really got it.
i’m on a train from montreal to new york city. we’re travelling through the adirondacks. and i’m kicking myself because all i want to do is write, but i look out the window instead and want to look out the window but write instead. it’s an unnervingly beautiful paradox i find myself caught within. the train sounds.
graaaaaap. graaap graaap graaaaaaaaaaap.
i don’t want to get off this train. i don’t want to arrive. i am happy and comfortable and still, for now. i know the next few weeks won’t stop. i know i’ll be all tied up in the bustle and the busy days and the getting from here to there.
but how exciting that will be! nights of four-hour sleep, stiff muscles from cramped spaces, new city smells and faces, the change in the air, in the everywhere.
and i’m not headed for anywhere, just riding minute by minute today and here and now on this train with the shaking and the moving and the graap graap graaping and the sweet simple thoughts of one day in montreal and kissing a boy, just a stranger just before.
i’m not wishing this to end, i’ll happily stay aboard until it stops. and every second i fall more in love with each second floating by and it comes in one big perfect wave of everything that starts from one small blood-red drop in the oceans of our hearts.
i want to go back to new york in the summertime. sweating between the shadows of the buildings, smelling the nuts and hot dogs and taxis rushing by: the sweet city air. i want to picnic in central park, just sit and wait for time to go by. the slightest of breezes cooling me and sending a myriad of scents my way. the city coming to me. calling me to explore, calling me to follow.
and when i go back to new york in the summertime, it won’t be relief. it won’t be a feeling of anticipation meeting reality. it will be simple and wondrous and filled with nothing but freedom. my thoughts finally releasing me, liberating me, allowing me to see past everything i thought i knew about life and living and all those little things.
snow. nyc public library.