sobremesa
“I was in love with the city, the way you love the first person who ever touches you and you never love anyone quite that way again.”
New York hides nothing.
Dank, disgusting, decorous, delirious; it embodies the pole agreements I crave to feel in my body.
The exact opposite of what you experience is a corner turn away.
A decadent glass of wine on a veranda overlooking Central Park. Soliloquies with strangers. Orange wrap dress clings to a waist, and espadrilles lace up to a thigh—opera singers in the subway and salty tears on my lips. I stood for ever listening with my entire being. How can beauty be so disgusting? Arousal has its ugliness.
Garbage lines the streets. There is no place to contain or secret the contents to be discarded. Out of sight, out of mind, does not exist in New York City.
It’s why I am so enthralled with this city and its people. The blunt edges of my becoming are whiled in NYC. People simply wear themselves; all shades and textures of skin glisten in the humidity. I can be anyone I desire. I am one way and the other way at the same time. I switch and oscillate. Whatever face I choose to show depends upon the circumstance. In the French restaurant, I am pensive and withdrawn. In the Soho art studio, I am elastic and weird. In the yoga class in Williamsburg, I am inquisitive and playful.
I delight in people and places who tease out the subtle nuance of my being and give me a reason to be what I am not! Cities conjure fascinating questions.
Who am I?
Where do I belong?
What is my desire?
How do I engage others?
When do I make my words relevant?
New York, you gave me the confidence to walk straight into a world of disarray. The reception of surprise is a gift. I bid you farewell with a quiet fire in my heart. I will return.
Photo source.
