Sooner or Later

I sometimes wonder
if the things I know
will ever prove useful outside the trivia game inside my head
if knowing how many brothers you have
will somehow be viable information
and if imagining a bond between us
one that ties us together
will ever be anything other than
something I keep hanging myself with.

I wonder if there will ever be a reason
for you to look at me
that way I wish someone would
that you could
because you're kind
and gentle
and all the things I need.

I wonder if there will ever be a time
when our paths not crossing
won't irk me
if I will ever give up
the imagined brunches
shared laughs
ragged nerves made smooth
by your quiet compassion.

I wonder if you will ever read the letter
the one I sent the only way I could
when the world stopped
and your city
that was once my city
our city
went into hibernation
and we wondered
separately
if we wold both be around
to see it wake up.

I wonder a lot of things
on days like today
when I am safe at home
and the air is gray
and cold.

I wonder how you are.
I hope you are well.

Those 15 months in acting school

I miss coffee bought off a truck from a man who never isn't smiling.
I miss sunrise on W 70th street.
I miss sunset in Washington Square Park.
I miss my city,
even when I'm there because my old neighborhood was 20 reinventions ago.
I miss my home.

I miss walking from class to home, 

the quarter of a studio apartment I shared, 

with a communal shower, kitchen, lounge, 

the cafe across the street with the classical pianist, 

and kind waiter, 

warm light, 

and soft chairs. 

I miss the water of the pond in Lincoln Center, 

outside the Vivian Beaumont, 

and the library. 

I miss the security that the plaza allowed me. 

I miss how the rest of the city faded into background noise, 

and it was just me on a bench, 

resting in the memory of the first time I traveled into the city without a chaperone, 

and saw the play that changed my life, 

the first of two, 

both dance shows. 

I miss floating back onto Broadway and 66th street, 

watching television stars, 

movie stars, 

Broadway stars walk past, 

and genuinely not caring about any of them because they were just people, 

except that one, 

and no, 

it isn't who you think.

I miss the fleeting feeling that I knew who I was.

I miss the dreams of the someday brownstone, 

next to the perfect hole in the wall restaurant, 

and the expertly curated shop of always perfect gifts to bring back on long weekends, 

both permanently shuttered.

I miss Variety and Backstage, 

and the Candle Bar. 

I miss the cafe on the corner, 

and the bakery down the street. 

I miss how the air smelled when it rained in August, 

and how that was enough to make me forget that I was unhappy.

I miss the laughter. 

I miss the hollow in my stomach, 

the arch of my arm in ballet, 

the self assuredness in my voice when I sang. 

I miss the view from the second floor, 

the way the arched windows with multiple panes,

always dirty,

reminded me that I was just one person in a line that stretched back decades. 

I miss the promise I made myself. 

I miss thinking I was unstoppable.

I miss my city.

I was alive there.