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Manhattan Story with Sea Themes

This is the part of the story where there is nowhere left to swim, and there is only a sea of buildings as far as the eye can see. Sometimes the view of the perfect skyscraper is interrupted with people, and once in awhile a friendly face. Most of the time, it’s a sort of shadow theatre, where there are memories of her everywhere among the manhattan hotels new york is a living memory of the things that happen on skin, on palms, and stories written with fingernails in the middle of the dawn when no words are left to fall.

She would be a swimming metaphor, if she hadn’t been everything but a metaphor. On some nights here, I wish she were a metaphor, and on others it makes sense that this city is a place where people go to fall in love, where they return for a honeymoon, or where they go to find some solitude, and time away from the noise of the sea. Sometimes there are Scottish roots that come through the city streets, and carried along by the pieces of hearts that have been lost in the harbor. Despite the city that takes over everything here, it is still a place on the water.

Despite myself, I still can’t shake the idea that when we swim far enough so that the land disappears then we’ll have a better idea of who we’re supposed to be. For now, I’m in a city, reinventing myself, looking for clues about my own identity. On 14th street and looking at all the shops selling hair ties and wind-up toys, I’m always running past mirrors. At one time I would have kept walking, because there are moments when reflections should be hidden from the reflector, but these days I suspect I will see clues, but only see her face, and that might be the most important clue I ever had.

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