36 Hours

I managed to weave my way out of the Beacon Theatre on Broadway, follow the street lights past West End Ave., and cross Riverside Dr without fearing the shadows of New York City. A man was playing the saxophone by the Henry Hudson Parkway, the acoustics he created under the bridge stopped me cold in my tracks and transported me to a romantic film. A newfound longing to have somebody next to me appeared in the pit of my stomach and I lost myself in the cast of the low lighting. The perfectly placed human being sharing and creating one of the most critical moments of my life was a stranger I would never see again. I picked up the pace when I heard a splash signaling the waterfront past the H. R. Greenway and within seconds, I saw the horizon open up before me. The lights and the noise of the city fell behind, the full-moon played hide-and-seek with the skyscrapers to my left, and the sound of the breeze closing the night from the right created peace I'd been searhing for and a kind of love I never knew existed. The wind swept up courage from the Upper West Side and blew it through my hair; it was only then that I know how to celebrate a magnificent night.