Saturday, May 23, 2015

addicted to movement

Tonight, I am in love with New York City.
Tonight, I am hungry to wander around the city blocks.
Tonight, I'm sitting on the East River, in a very particular spot:
a spot where the water laps so comfortingly, and the lights of Queens shine bright behind
the dark shape of the Roosevelt Island lighthouse, and I feel like I fit into that spot perfectly.
It is a spot where I feel understood.
And I'm standing on my spot on the East River, looking out at the lights of Queens and the lights of the city behind me, and thinking how all I really want to do for the rest of my life is to write plays, and make theatre with high school students in some small town utterly surrounded by nature. I will make lots and lots of theatre, and my husband will make the car payments.
I will be far away from the insanity of New York City, where people lived crammed next to and on top of each other, and in each other's faces. I will have a small plot of land with trees to call our own and a little house on that land which will light up with many lights when dusk falls.
I will have a family to whom I can read bedtime stories. And I will be happy.

Yet, I want to stay on this spot on the East River forever.
I don't know what I want; and I don't know what I love.
But I know I love everything, and I want everything all at once.

Tonight, I am in love with New York City.
Tonight, I am content to explore winding Village streets.
Tonight, I am sitting in this cupcake shop, swinging on the swings by the bar, writing poetry and nonsense, and swinging to the beat of the music.

I feel invincible: like right here is the place I will belong forever; and words will always flow from the poetry that pulses through the city atmosphere through my fingertips.
The city is a small town tonight: I know each bartender and barista, I chat with all the men waiting in line for ice cream, and I flirt with each sailor on the street corner, like we were high school classmates.
Friends are close by, no longer separated by trains and cold weather and the mental distance of school.
The wifi is free and the cupcakes are sweet; and I feel prodigal and generous, wishing I had a Cliff bar to hand to every human being begging for money so painfully on the subway.

Tonight, I am swamped in sadness.
The sadness of realizing that there are so many stories in the world:
some of them marked with deep pain and evil. Some of them marked with riches, some of them with poverty.
Some of them end tragically, I think.
Tonight, I wish that none of this were so.
How can it be that not all humans experience the same meaning; the same paths and the same stories.
There is so much unfairness, and so many sadnesses that not all of us have to experience.
New York City reminds me of all these sadnesses all the time.

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