My posterIn 1997 Santa left an oversized poster of the New York City sky line at night; with lit windows and fuzzy strips of orange from the trafficked streets.
I tacked the captured energy above my bed. It would be my home as soon as high school was done with me.
I tacked the captured energy above my bed. It would be my home as soon as high school was done with me.
Anything to get out of this town.
Big plans. I had huge plans. Who doesn’t at thirteen.
I took that poster to college, where it lived in five different bedrooms. Was ripped during a party, gained bunches of push pin holes in each corner.
The pink glow of the night lights began to fade. I began to get older. Forget about my plans. Abandon pieces of that innocent expectation.
One day I rolled that poster up, and gave it to Goodwill. For someone else to find, dream about, live with. I remember staring at it, trying so hard to remember the intensity of my persistence in moving there. My tiny loft apartment found online. On my own. New beginnings. I walked away from it. I hate that.
In 5 days. In 2008, I am getting on an airplane to New York City. It will be my first time stepping foot on the floor of my dream. Now, the cold, loud, busy air will be mine to breathe in. Mine to exhibit.
The alleyway dive bars. Blues music purring from the doors. The resonance of my Winston Salem heels click-clacking on the concrete of Manhattan.
I have been packing in my brain for years. My suitcase is sitting on my bed, opened, ready for me to jump in. Thank you life for finally pushing me to this place in my heart, filling that empty corner
Big plans. I had huge plans. Who doesn’t at thirteen.
I took that poster to college, where it lived in five different bedrooms. Was ripped during a party, gained bunches of push pin holes in each corner.
The pink glow of the night lights began to fade. I began to get older. Forget about my plans. Abandon pieces of that innocent expectation.
One day I rolled that poster up, and gave it to Goodwill. For someone else to find, dream about, live with. I remember staring at it, trying so hard to remember the intensity of my persistence in moving there. My tiny loft apartment found online. On my own. New beginnings. I walked away from it. I hate that.
In 5 days. In 2008, I am getting on an airplane to New York City. It will be my first time stepping foot on the floor of my dream. Now, the cold, loud, busy air will be mine to breathe in. Mine to exhibit.
The alleyway dive bars. Blues music purring from the doors. The resonance of my Winston Salem heels click-clacking on the concrete of Manhattan.
I have been packing in my brain for years. My suitcase is sitting on my bed, opened, ready for me to jump in. Thank you life for finally pushing me to this place in my heart, filling that empty corner
of pushpin holes.
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