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I slept at hers in Bushwick after the light of the morning lit up the half empty subway windows.
That reunion on the staircase was sudden, but I simply did not want to cause a world of pain. It is easy enough to live side by side in this house, and the hours measure better with your company, as you know how to pass time better than I. I feel alone too lately in this house, which I am grateful for, and still I care for you, and find you precious. I have failed to reconcile desire, and yet again it is alright, for in my mind, I know surrender, and still pay attention to what I hope to give. I also know I could lose you, or cause you pain, and give way too, and yet I have chosen not, but still sought to expose you to knowing it, before turning back, thinking that there was no need anymore, that you knew too.
All the way down from the city, all the way down the river, the blue curve of distant land, the long hum of the car where the waylaid lie on the seats as they do in the subway like- stained paper bags, shopping carts orphaned from the supermarket chains to become human detritus but now the air is open with window glimpses of each broken tower and dreaming current the carriage is full, Sundays the people stand men clutching cans stink of alcohol. They are working men, they forget their skin though the sun tells of each burn and spot- returning as we all do to the city.
That nighttime train ride by the river, with all the memory ghosts resting in their seats. The waning moon as the day after my birth, the landscape getting wider and wilder, coming to a chosen dream of the world.