apartment #1

I want my first New York apartment to be the dream.
The bedroom will be just enough to fit a dresser and a bed.
It’ll be too cold in the winter that we’ll smoke to make it nice and toasty.
It’ll be way too hot in the summer that we open all of the windows
and still, have to leave the house
to stroll to the nearest public library
to sit and have mediocre, overpriced coffee with free wifi.
It will be a lot quieter there,
and there will be a cute librarian sitting at the desk across the room.
I will try to make eye contact a few times and give up,
never to know that they were also secretly trying to make eye contact with me,
but hey,
sometimes romance is a missed opportunity in the first New York apartment, too.
It will come with the lease.
As does the laughter and missed alarms and fire escapes.
So do the tears.
But I will think, I wouldn’t trade this pain for any worldly riches,
no treasure or goods.
I will become a little harder
and a little colder since my first embrace with the streets of New York City.
And though pain is inevitable, I can look out the small window
and see the sunrise.
I will see the skyline and suddenly forget every story I’ve ever written,
because there will always be more coffee to drink in libraries,
new bills to pay, and chaos.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
New York is a city that taught me to love furiously
in a heated passion.

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