When I close my eyes I dream of New York City streets. Those bleak, dark and dank roads tread upon by every man and his dog. A bustling metropolis, a concrete jungle brimming with tall, complex grey man-made structures that litter the skyline with its glistening window panes. A city with ample opportunity should one look hard enough. It’s pavements occupied with a million people all on a vigorous mission; heads down and coats drawn protectively like a veil. But should you manage to catch a glimpse, make contact through ones eyes you’d see the tiredness that stirs. A tiredness completely unbeknownst to them. The sidewalk still slick with moisture from a downpour a moment ago but it’s people maneuver through just fine, unlike myself a second ago. I watch in awe as people scurry along with urgency in their stride. I catch a whiff of Jean Patou from a lady clad in silken fur. It’s strong floral notes carrying me away to the greenest of fields for a fleeting second. Cars pass me by without a second glance, horns blazing with disgust for the other motorists. Tires shrieking against the dampness in the gravel they rest upon attempting to grip themselves during their haste. And in a sea of large black town cars the yellow cabs seem to light the way; utterly synonymous with this city they are. People fighting for their attention, using multiple sneaky and dirty tactics against one another all in a bid to secure one for themselves, like a cowboy lassoing it’s prize. There’s a chill in the air but I don’t quite feel it because you are here. By my side, hand in hand, protected, loved. The simplest of gestures yet one that speaks a million languages of adoration to me. Your husky voice drowns out those sounds and smells of the now silent passerby’s and traffic as if it were only you and I, alone in this determined city.
A city that now becomes our playground.