Taiwan and New York are two different sides of a spectrum so separated by time and space. In New York, there is vivacity and color on the trains, age and rot on the tracks. There is public love, so public we avert our eyes and question their propriety.
In Taiwan, there is proper fashion and skinny girls in knee socks and too short skirts with buttoned up blouses.
There are winter coats, yes, but for fashion’s sake. There is country twined Mandarin in gruff and loud tones and tattooed eyebrows and old style perms. There are too low ceilings and a penchant for saying thank you. There is hand holding.
In New York, there is full on making out and legs crossed over lovers. There are winter coats, thick and burly black. There are black models on advertisements for mainstream brands. The subway train is wide and the track is slow and unreliable. There is constant communication between the conductor and her passengers, informing the latter that they are running late once again.
There is the chilling cold and the snow both beloved and accursed. We are wanderers in the night sky, drifting aimlessly until we collide with others, different minded, who implode our inner values and birth reinventions of our minds. This chemistry, this outpouring of energy is what defines continuity and progression in the best of ways, granting us comfort at the lowest of lows and melodic assurance at our best.
Your lips land on mine, declaratively, boldly, in a sweet and adoring manner that I replay and revisit in the coldest of mornings when paperwork and confused patients plunge me asunder. Your palm, giving my back warmth, rubbing circles where I felt alone, as if lighting little marker places for where I should be and where I was and where I am now with you. In my pitch dark, hazy comfort, those lights place me in a realm of sanity again.
And all along the way, I was scared.
Scared of the dark, of the monsters that laid along the lines of my thoughts and the very real places they could drag me to. I was terrified by their wrapping and twisting tentacles, their penchant for lying viciously, extremely so until I could barely see them at all and then sinking their jaws in when I grew absent minded. To myself I have always been a danger, an addled mess of flammables just waiting for the wrong trigger. But thinking of you now reassures me, warms me and recharges me, so that the bitter cold is nothing but a phantom breeze and my pounding headache is nothing but a slight tickle and together we are impermeable, a solid entity, fixed in time and space, lovingly.


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