Day Four. To Exist.


Day 4_03I touch my own face to make sure I actually exist, a bunch of minutes past ten pm. I am on the rooftop of midtown feeling the amazement in Marcello’s eyes , eaten away by the jet lag, hidden under a green hood, watery for an overseas love, seeing in them the same joy that touched mine the first time Manhattan allowed me to watch it from above. Spreading the future of the certainty of being nothing more than a portion of light. That someone watches, from the window on the other side.