Dear New York,
One month ago from tonight, we collided at some old bar that my aunt favored over the rest of New York City's fine selection. You walked in with your friends and we made eye contact; after that, I don't think we ever stopped. I don't know if you remember, but I do- every minute, every feeling that arose, and every blush that tinted my face. I felt like I was on fire, not even having to look up to be aware that you were watching me- I just knew. On a rainy night in Manhattan, we stained the city streets with our wet feet, the brick buildings and concrete stoops with our drenched backs, the city air with our bated breath. So consumed we were with each other, losing our train of thought and time, losings our minds. Yellow cabs kept driving by, drunk girls continued to fall in their heels, and there was a deadly scream in the air- life continued to go on around us, and at our eye level, it was undisturbed. Stuck in the moment, because that was all we had.
Time stopped but the rain never did.
The next day it was still coming down, as if the sunlight didn't want me to forget the boy I spent my entire last night of New York with. Little did I know you couldn't forget me either or that for the next few weeks we'd talk incessantly.
Little did I know somebody over a thousand miles away could make me so happy, and at the same time, make me so depressed. I was enthralled about the idea of us happening, and so upset with the reality of the situation: we couldn't happen.
One month later, I'm coming to terms with it. We weren't meant to be. Fate played no cards in this. It was just something that happened to occur. Something that momentarily was perfect.
All we had is that night, and almost lover, I think it's all we'll ever have.
Ps. Call me if you ever make it to Sarasota. I'll be here.
Sincerely,
Florida.
