This is how I’ve seen it:
It’s winter in New York City, but that doesn’t really matter: we’re both inside, drinking hot chocolate, and I don’t give a second thought to it. It’s at my smile, and it’s warm, and the air is cold, so I’m okay. We’re okay, the two of us.
I’m laughing like I’ve never laughed. I’ve never meant it until now. I’ve smiled with meaning, before – yes, in December of 2011, although it didn’t last long – and I have that light in my eyes that comes up whenever I say your name; whenever I think it.
New York isn’t so hard when you’re with someone who’s so beautiful. You were right, about us being each other’s missing pieces. I am sick. I will always be sick, but you are the light of my life, and you scare away the Darkness.
It’s spring in New York City, but that doesn’t really matter: we can’t see flowers on trees that don’t exist. That’s when we’ll go to Central Park: when we need just one thing. Trees. And you and I will walk throughout the park and watch the vendors and the artists, and we’ll smile at the tourists to show them New York isn’t bad.
It isn’t. You’re here.
It’s summer in New York City, but that doesn’t matter, (except to the tomato plants, who are very happy): where you come from, New York summers are a fraction of the heat, and you’re being kind and ensuring this Pennsylvanian blood has some ice so she can move.
We’ll go to film festivals and art festivals and even food festivals, and we’ll be in awe at all that New York has to offer. It’ll be a change. And it’ll be marvelous, because I’ll be by your side, and you’ll be by mine, and not even tourists or hurried businessmen can come between us, (or revolutionaries, but I don’t see them on the sidewalks very often).
It’s autumn in New York City, but that doesn’t matter: my birthday doesn’t scare me, and I’ll be too excited for yours to think about my age, my past, my everything-I-need-to-forget-about-anyway. We’ll do fall things, Halloween things, (with lipstick pepper spray in our pockets), and we’ll stay at home most days and drink apple cider. We’ll watch old horror films and laugh at pom-pom bats on strings and dream sequences where you can see the smoke machines.
We’ll watch foreign films, too, but all year-round, and let’s learn foreign languages so we can travel someday, (because New York or Charlotte or fucking Indiana, I’d be happy with you anywhere.)
I’d like to take you to Paris.
(And Munich, Toledo – Spain, for the record – and at least ten different European countries. You decide the rest and anywhere else, too.)
People reading this who don’t know us might think we’re in love. When I talk about someone special to me from the past, people often ask me if I had been in love with them. That’s stupid, isn’t it? Can’t I want to be with you without wanting you? I let myself get tricked so many times. How little do people love, then?
Whatever, fuck them.
We’re Soul Sisters.
This is how I’ve seen it: