Month: December 2014

Later, New York

A few days ago, I found myself hoarding as much of New York as I could. After the finality of moving, I went back to my places, to remember the things that happened between the grime of its grids, trying touch every crevice again. But why hoard something you can’t really take away with you, especially when it’s something that will also pass. Hoarding isn’t a show of trust either. So I’m embracing it, and letting the nostalgia run it’s course. The places I’ve called home are easily erased of my being there. Like the crumbs of a Levain chocolate chip cookie, only a sprinkle remain; in a whiff, it’s gone. It’s so easy, removing evidences of myself, that it’s infuriating. The hardest part is for the emotions to catch up with the mind. My room in Astoria, bathed in the soft light of muslin curtains painstakingly hung, will belong to someone else once I’m out the door. When my friend walks her dog past 2717, I won’t be there. After my name is peeled from the mailbox, it’s like I was never here. I think …