A Love Letter To Being Alone In NYC

I want someone to look at me the way lovers look at each other on the train,

Curled up together in the small hours of the morning, sharing headphones and keeping each other awake until their stop.

Or the way someone looks at someone else from afar, separated by masses on the M79 bus,

Looking at the person like they’re deja vu, that they’ve known them their whole life.

I’ve decided I’m not settling for anything less anymore.

Something healthy like this, where two strangers can meet, going down a path on separate destinations, and look as though they’ve known each other for the whole journey.

One has got a suitcase and a ticket to LAX, clutching the New York Times. The other a cello covered in julliard and New York philharmonic stickers.

Their coats touch gently, hats and scarves radiating heat between them.

Down the train car, a pair sits next to each other,

Older, in their 60s, knowing the subway through its stages of growth and what we ironically can call its renaissance.

This route for them is routine, as one gets off on a certain stop, the other kisses them goodbye and hands them the paper.

It’s comfortable, like the suits they both wear, but at the same time, the love still feels new and electric.

And as I stand alone day in and day out, searching for faces that never meet my gaze,

I’m perfectly okay with being alone in a city like this.

There is so much love around,

And it doesn’t mean that it has to involve you for you to feel it.