In New York I Was Always So

Amid The Gray, An Incongruous Band Of Daytime Blue Asserts Itself. To The West, A Pink Sun Already Begins Its Descent. The Effect Is Of Three Isolated Aspects, Distinct Phases Of The Day. All Of It, Strewn Across The Horizon, Is Contained In His Vision.

And Wasn't It Terrible, How Much He Looked Forward To Those Moments, So Much So That Sometimes Even A Ride By Himself On The Subway Was The Best Part Of The Day? Wasn't It Terrible That After All The Work One Put Into Finding A Person To Spend One's Life With, After Making A Family With That Person, Even In Spite Of Missing That Person...that Solitude Was What One Relished The Most, The Only Thing That, Even In Fleeting, Diminished Doses, Kept One Sane?

That The Last Two Letters In Her Name Were The First Two In His, A Silly Thing He Never Mentioned To Her But Caused Him To Believe That They Were Bound Together.

Still, There Are Times I Am Bewildered By Each Mile I Have Traveled, Each Meal I Have Eaten, Each Person I Have Known, Each Room In Which I Have Slept. As Ordinary As It All Appears, There Are Times When It Is Beyond My Imagination.

The Knowledge Of Death Seemed Present In Both Sisters-it Was Something About The Way They Carried Themselves, Something That Had Broken Too Son And Had Not Mended, Marking Them In Spite Of Their Lightheartedness.