Man,

I miss New York like a lover. I go for oxygen; I drown in the memory of the colorful Williamsburg fire escapes aligning vertically like books in the stacks. Jesus, if you want me to live in New York please carve a path for me. I submit to you. My heart is already there. I will go. Until then, I beg you to saturate my spirit in Your grace so that I can endure the pain of being away from the one my heart loves. Manhattan is the only thing that has ever been mine. I felt its hands slip into my mittens between skin and magenta wool.
I was a neon woman.
You never let me sleep.