The backdrop dissolves, cutting back to the night when I had walked alone along the Hudson, only to find you standing there at the corner of West and West 10th. We overlooked the waters out to Jersey, and I wondered which side of the river I would belong to.
Though long gone, you have not aged in the depths of my mind.
So the whirlwind of leaves start up once more, pulling me back to the same street that had brought me to you, nearly half a decade ago. I had been nineteen then, and you, had been chaos. This is where I confess, I know as little about myself now as I had then.
For it is the end of that night that torments me most.
There he was, sitting in the back of a yellow cab as it drove away, writing words I could not read in the foggy windowpane. A fragment in time that still haunts the best of me.