When I looked upon you for the last time, you were no longer mine. I was just visiting this place, your man-made shores and circling doors. But I am leaving having become so very much like you, with my soul planted deep into your red, white and blue. My flying eagle copper buckle bids you adieu.
It makes you feel wanted. Like someone like you once walked here; like you were here – but not wholly as you. In the midst of this great city sits an oasis, bordered with museums holding the greatest art that has ever existed in human history. Break dancers, cripple beggars and girls in tiaras sit side by side on the M train, leaving Forest Hills for Midtown, where trains run beneath your feet.
This is New York.
I do not let my heart wear down with longing – I remember, my love has no limit, no barricade. I do not lament a physical parting; I am alone, my trajectory linearly laid. As I leave behind everything I have grown to call home, it becomes clear, these misunderstood attachments – my home, my heart, my love, lives in me, in eternal detachment.