New York

New York.

Her mind like the streets of New York, constantly bustling, thoughts headed in all directions, some towards success, some towards inevitable doom, all walking, ever moving, ever living.

And then, quiet.

Her thoughts came apart, six feet apart, crying like New York, dying like New Yorkers, thoughts piling up in heaps, thoughts dying and fighting, fighting to live.

She sought solace for her thoughts, for the people of New York, for her thoughts and for their New York. New York was quiet, and she didn’t like it.

Then, the sound of a tuba. Of a flute. Of balcony voices, serenading one another, fighting together, living together, reminding each other: we are still here.

Her mind came alive just as New York came alive, and though the thoughts no longer bustled, they sang with the same fervor and motion as before, ever moving, ever living.

New York.

– Pihu J.