I’ve read in a lot of books that things fall apart, life falls apart I’ve never really needed a book to tell me that it just always seemed to such a force in my life. I look at the town that I live in and although beautiful it is simultaneously choking any life out of me. I remember being a little girl sleeping on a fulton in my parents room in my grandmother’s apartment and the Windows centralized unit was buzzing in cold air and I laid on the bed and I could hear the baseball game that was playing in the background but all I remember is the beauty of the George Washington bridge dangling over the Hudson river. I remember in the terror of my youth there was the night and there was the bridge. The beauty in Fort Washington before the day could settle and the smoke could clear from the lungs of my grandfather’s grave, my comfort was found in the Bridge. I guess no one tells you that as things fall apart there is always an outlook. There’s always a bridge to get you from where you are to where you are destined to be. I miss my yellowed out street lamps and the howl of the restless artist that entrails the city of New York. I miss the gull, the ability to look through someone to see a mass of flesh and stimulatouosly see their soul. Oh I miss the smell of dark espresso grounds and the taste of poppi seed muffins as my mother holds my hand down the street. I fall but I find my footing before I fall again. Oh. Home. I miss what it is to have a home, not like that apartment was a home but the bouquets of sharpened pencils felt awfully close, and the freshly picked mangos from the street vendor. Oh God I miss home. There are a lot of books I’ve read, very few that find solace in every place expect from within. Home. Home. Home.