Warm

The high-rises of midtown are spangled with light at dusk. The cold wind scours my cheeks and stalks up and down the streets, looking for gaps in clothing to infiltrate and chill.

I remember my sister visiting me when I first moved to New York (so new I mistook The Dakota building at a distance for St. Patrick's), and I couldn't tell her why I was here, exactly.

I remember the things I wanted back then (fame, fortune, love), and how much my desire for those things made me love this place, my home, and a memory of that feeling warms my chest to keep out the cold.