Writing in a cab heading northbound on the FDR. It's a perfect spring day; the wind blows stray pieces of paper and plastic bags to the edge of the East River, hitting the park fence, teasing the kids playing baseball on the adjacent field.
I have a perfect view of the bridge, the abandoned Dominos Sugar factory in Williamsburg, another borough bursting beyond it's limits with people and ideas.
I am exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. I want to feel the sun on my skin and the wind at the nape of my neck. I want to understand this feeling of longing, this yearning for the life I do not have and cannot define.
Breathing in softly I whisper to myself. You are here. This is your life. It is everything you wanted and nothing you needed. But you are here.
Looking out the window, now at a young couple, an androgynous looking woman and her male partner. Pushing a stroller down Houston towards Second Avenue. Present.