Dear New York, I Belong to You

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years.” ― Tom Wolfe

I watch a man:
nameless sitting on a straight-back wooden bench in front of the Highline,
comfortable at the sight of crowded sights, noisy air, chaos erupting – yet
staring into the city streets, busy cars, assemblage of people, and tall buildings caving in with a hundred years of memories played out on the skyline
surrounding him, overwhelming him – relieving him.

I witness a man:
closing his eyes, stretching his legs out straight, getting up, reaching out
to the tragedies, stories of existence, watching the movement of the people
and replicating them, shoulders and arms moving aside, running his hands across the bench, feeling the wood linger in his touch, transferring into him, thinking of the names that exist gathering in a pool of crowds, what they look for, what they find.

I see a man:
on one that was more for pliant days, to realize that nothing is truly called by name,
walking towards me, approaching me, waking to find that sunlight is not just done in millennia, there are no questions that I cannot answer on my own – yet.
He said, “No, perhaps not,” to himself. There are people calling a name,
but he is silent only paying attention to his surroundings as if he belonged to this city.

I know a man:
as a  lightness between the buildings peaked through, yet consolidation something I did not know, my breath begged a voice to answer. A expression without impression,
sitting down in the bench he had sat upon, sitting, closing my eyes, stretching my legs out straight, watching the movement of the city over me, looking for existence, running my hands on the wood…

I hear him ask, “What are you searching for?”

–   Emilyn Nguyen, Dear New York, I Belong to You (Dear New York Series)