The weather, however, could not be more perfect, more clear, more beautiful. I passed a man on the way to work, just sitting in the sun with a smile on his face. It changed my whole morning.
I was not here, but this was already home. I didn't lose anyone, but the hours where that seemed a possiblility broke my heart. I cannot go down to lower manahattan, to where what's left, without my sunglasses on to hide my tears as we shuffle yet another family member/tourist past.
And I cannot write about it today. This year, in its wonder and joy, has made me all the more aware of what it would feel like to lose. To be lost. My heart can no longer bare such thoughts. It's enough I have them, enough that now the tears are falling yet again unprompted.
So I'm posting something I've already written. I find it as true right now as when I had first typed it out, so it seems okay. I'm hoping you understand.
I want my hair to fall in my face and have it brushed aside by his hand as he pulls me close as the music slows. I want to be able to lean into him and not have to worry about standing on my own. I want all my worries to be centered around where he'll put his hands when we dance, and where we'll go when they turn the lights back on.
I want all my friends in one place, safe and happy - filled with music and laughter.
I want our voices to be hoarse from yelling and our heads heavy from drink and adventure.
I want for my worries to be all about how we'll all manage to do this again in a few weeks. I want my future plans to only be concerned with thoughts of more music and close friends.
And where they sell good greasy food at four in the morning.
I want to sneak a cigarette at the bar as everyone else goes to check out the next floor of the club. I want bum a light and whisper conspiratorially as we hide in the corner, smoke coming out of our mouths and gin sloshing in our glasses.
I want to know once again, what it is to laugh until I cry. What it feels like when my cheeks are sore from smiling.
I don't want to know who our allies are. What country we plan on stomping through on our way to wage war. I want to stop counting those I know who are no longer here, but elsewhere in a sandy and strange desert. I don't want to turn the radio on in the morning wondering what the news will bring. I am tired of hearing the arguments and the rationalizations and reasons. I'm tired of the bright lights and complex systems.
I want to keep my loved ones close, in the darkness. I want us to dance until we can no longer stand, hold each other close and walk home. To a home that's safe, and right, and just.
I want midnight burritos and shots of tequila. I don't want these adult concerns and responsibilities.
I want peace.