On The Other Side of the Bridge

The train I’m on speeds out of the tunnel and onto the Manhattan Bridge. I look out the window and the once traffic jammed road is empty, boats no longer cruising on the east river.

Behind the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridge the bright, warm sun is just about to set.

My heart flutters and a part of it chips off into tiny pieces, like bread crumbs marking my way back to the city. Soon.

I knew, I know, this is the last time I’ll see the city I love in a long while.

The honking of yellow cabs, the water pouring out from the fountain in Washington Square Park, the people crowding Times Square, the constant sound of laughing and people talking over each other, the train rides, the cobbled streets in Soho, the longing and hope that filled me every time I walked down and up the same streets, all left behind on the other side of this bridge.

I have always felt close yet so far. But today, right now, that “farness” has stretched into miles upon miles spanning from the Shakespeare and Co. on 86th street through Bryant Park, into and out of the theaters on Broadway, climbing over the old train tracks on the High Line, outside the stacks of books of The Strand, past La Newyorkina, over the Manhattan bridge and into Dyker Heights, Brooklyn.

I have always felt as if my time were running out. As if my opportunity to be who I want to be, to do what I want to do, is being lost in all the moments I’m not there. It is so hard not to feel that way now.

The skyscrapers disappearing from my view from inside the train, I know this time, “time” is being stolen from me by things completely out of my control.

I just hope with all the hope I might still have that my dreams and love are waiting for me on the other side of the bridge. Where soon I can sit in a cafe and revel in the chatter and buzz around me. Where my dreams of the stage will one day happen. Where I can get lost in the bookshelves and wander into the green market in Union Square. I hope all these moments are waiting for me.

As my train disappears into the tunnel, into Brooklyn, I leave a piece of my heart in the middle of Manhattan.

-Annette

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