On the rooftop
All I remember is the sentence ended, “at least that’s what I like to tell myself.” Something about not being sad because we’ll be older and wiser and more prepared than we would have been had we found our other halves sooner.
But still the message from one of those others, an other who might have been, confirms those thoughts. I’m not the only one who thinks it.
Yeah, things are definitely different than i would’ve predicted on the 10th six years ago.
Sep 12, 6:20 pm
But everything happens for a reason. At least that’s what I like to tell myself.
I sit here and look out, a mere quarter of a mile across the river, to where those towers would have stood. I went to bed with two beams of light shooting to the heavens in memoriam glowing over me in my bed.
I live here now.
I look down over the Brooklyn Navy Yard and barges in the water. I live here now.
I touch the thin thread of emotion. I tap it, tug it, try and pull myself back. But for the first time in a long time, letting it unravel actually feels good.
I feel warmth and worry leaving my body at the same time. Love for this city. Love for an unnamed other. I get more sorted out sitting here watching the sun slip among the clouds than I ever do on my feet.
Alternate realities don’t matter anymore. No matter how many times you play them over, the “What ifs” never come out right. Things would not have been the way we saw them then. They didn’t fit. Not like this does.
The improbability of being here, with the “out of sight, out of mind” theory being disproven more every damn day . . . you know, the people I love the most aren’t even here with me, but I think about them all the f*cking time. Those towers aren’t there, but we feel them, damn it. And the love I have, it stretches continuously. Past time zones. Past reason. I’m filled with light.
We used to talk about it. “The unbearable lightness of being.” But it’s no longer unbearable. Not for me, anyway. It just feels right.