I dreamed a dream of New York last night. Attractive young men in the subway station, their eyes buried in bangs. One smiled at me and escaped down the steaming stairwell. All of us were waiting, seated on the steps, and a grizzled old man said something about the burden of being blind. From behind me, a boy with a black mop and a lisp asked him to tell us a little story from his blind life. Then I woke up.
Soon after waking, I remembered how my New York friends always tell me how difficult it is to meet somebody in the City. And I wish I could shake these fears. I wish I could stop caring about such things, live my life unfettered by romantic concerns. Life is still beautiful without a love interest. I will write it on my mirror.
New York is six weeks away.
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