When did we stop being comrades in arms? We danced in anger together; Rejoiced in rebellion over the same sorry situation, the one we had no chance of avoiding. We drank the fire, sang the songs, moved in rhythm away from the smoke, dodged the repercussions.
The dawn of responsibility surfaces, shows it’s ugly, caustic face just as our lives being to dwindle. Fear kicks up the dust and self preservation roars with a focus on just that. The self is only for us - but not the us that once danced in the trees under the moonlight, flipped monuments to mentors who held wisdom and storied tales of woe and loss, not the us who were lost together, found by each other and then lost again. Us is only me.
It’s plenty lonely in New York. People have this idea that going to an overpopulated area full of diverse culture is like stepping into a social fun house full of opportunity, but in reality, it’s the perfect place to become anonymous. An anonymous face in a sea of nameless faces, another grey space heater on a crowded subway. We find importance where we look for it, but more accurately, where we want to find it. We look for it in our mothers, in the place inside ourselves that care about us more than anything in the world, more than anything that ever existed. We do it in a desperate attempt to protect our mortality, by removing the thing that connects us to everything else that’s alive.
That’s when we begin to die.