Memories of New York

I can still feel the subway propelling me forward.

I can still feel my grip tighten on the pole as our motion down the tracks continued.

I can still feel that sense of anxiety glancing out the window at each stop, hoping we didn't miss where we needed to get off.

The world seemed to whirl past me at an unimaginable pace.

Streaks of light that came in reds and blues.

The clinking of change cups,

The opening and closing of subway doors,

The conductor poking their head out of a seemingly tiny window.

The crying children,

The poised dogs next to their owners,

The chattering among friends and family.

At times, it didn't feel real.

I would slowly drift in and out of existence,

I would awake to a new tile wall with a new appearance.

And my feet,

They carried me further than I thought possible.

To places I never dreamed of seeing.

Even when it hurt,

Even when my heels wanted to halt.

Up the staircases of apartments in New York,

Down the streets we walked all week,

Around Time Square at least ten times,

To the parks,

Through the airports.

He told us not to look them in the eyes,

He told us to look the other direction,

He told us it was just the New York way.

But I saw compassion.

I saw excitement in the children who went to their favorite art shop,

I saw loss in the man who wanted nothing more than his next meal,

I saw exhaustion in the girl who had just finished up a day at school,

I saw embarrassment in the mother who could not get her child to stop crying,

I saw defeat in the gentleman who wished to be something more than "crazy",

I saw something in everyone.

And it was not glances of judgement, but curiosity.

Glances of understanding.

The echoes of laughter still ring in my ear.

The natural light bleeding into the space we stayed being the alarm to my mornings.

The sound of Penny blaring “Hamilton” to wake us up.

Smacking of hands on the table as we played the hand game,

Being drenched from the downpour walking to the subway,

Halal food trucks and ice cream on every corner,

Advertisements in every nook and cranny,

Searching for familiar faces through the fragmented views on the street,

When places became more that just pictures in my mind,

The bathrooms on the verge of breaking after every use,

The fear of losing my MetroCard,

The fear of being left.

And even when the wounds from falling in Rockefeller Plaza have healed,

And the luggage has been unpacked for weeks,

And everyone has gone their separate ways for summer,

Part of me wishes I could’ve got on that subway and never got off.