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Going Home by Trey Printer Friendly

Iíve been out all night and a cold wind is blowing bad weather through the streets.

I should be in bed.

Iím leaving New York.

Tomorrow.

I donít want to sleep.

Instead, I smoke and I drink and I listen to the Ďclackí of the keyboard echoing through the empty rooms of my home.

My last night.

I watched the skyline slip away as the cab carried me home across the bridge.

I could have wept, yet I didnít.

Eight years and Itís over.

I should say something, but what?

I donít belong here. I never have.

I didnít want to come, yet I did.

I wanted to leave for years, yet I didnít.

I didnít want to love it, yet I do.

Leaving.

Itís the right thing to do. Itís what I should do.

I know this like the addict knows his junk.

We all have our junk.

New York is mine.

Itís changed me. Carved me. Not always for the better. Often for the worse.

Iíve done things, seen things I shouldnít have.

Iíve found things inside myself I never knew. Some I wish I didnít.

I am still kind, yet not as kind.

I am still patient, yet not as patient.

I am still an optimist, yet no evil surprises me.

But...

I am still scared, yet not as scared.

I still dream, yet my dreams seem closer.

I still Love, yet I Love, I hope I hope, more honestly.

Eight years.

What of it?

What of New York?

My New York.

New York is two things.

The first is physical.

The mountains of mankind carved out of the hopes and dreams of generations.

It is beautiful and changing and more alive than any place Iíve yet seen.

This is the smaller part of New York, yet even this small part inspires.

New York is where we reach for the sky. Where we dig into the earth and stack carved stone to the heavens.

It is beautiful, and proud, and a monument to our aspirations.

Yet this beauty, loved by movies and pictures and painters, is still the smaller part of New York.

The second part, the part that really matters, is personal.

To me, New York is the great crucible which burns away illusion.

You arrive in New York alone. More alone than youíve ever been.

You look at the millions lining the streets, the subway platforms, the massive hallways of the monuments of mankind, and you know that you are alone.

You know that you can scream and shout and beg and no one will look and no one will care.

There is nothing except you, your demons, and your dreams.

What do you want to do? Who do you want to be? What are the darkest desires of your heart?

You can. You can be. You can have it.

New York is anything you want, but nothing will be handed to you. You must take it.

But?

If only?

It isnít fair?

Bullshit.

Your excuses are now you own.

Your failings are now your own.

You move to New York and live in shit and filth. Comfort becomes a well nursed cup of coffee at a diner out of the cold.

You are lost and alone.

You cower in the shadows of skyscrapers erected by titans.

You view the great artistic works of mankind and feel small.

You watch yourself dwindle to just another speck in the current of humanity.

But...

Finally...

In the speck that is left, you find yourself. Your core. The truth of you.

Fears and insecurities are peeled away, the past disappears, and your life becomes your own.

Everything that does not matter is stripped away.

Now, you become free.

This is my New York.

This is what I am leaving.

I hope I can.

I fear I cannot.

.

.

.

I should sleep.

I donít want to sleep.

I smoke and I drink and I listen to the Ďclackí of the keyboard echoing through the empty rooms of my home.

I suppose I will tell one of the stories of my life. A very important one for me, but maybe not for you.

I will tell my story of New York.

.

.

.

Once, when I thought I knew of life, I discovered I was wrong.

Very wrong.

What I thought was forever, who I thought was forever, was not.

The details no longer matter.

As with many dark times, what matters is what comes after.

What matters in this story is a person who came in to my life.

A girl from New York visiting Texas.

The how is beautiful, yet small. A story for another time.

The Who is what matters now.

No one can truly describe another, and rarely themselves.

She is beautiful, yet there are always others more so.

She is intelligent, yet there are always others more so.

She is often kind, yet often cruel.

All can be said of myself.

All can be said of all of us.

We met, and we talked, and we laughed and we loved.

We had 3 weekends together.

I told her the dark inside me and she understood. She understood and looked through it and somehow saw me.

I was cruel. Yet I didnít want to be and she forgave me.

I told her to run and she didnít.

She took leaps of faith that made no sense.

She took the chances I couldnít bring myself to.

She was brave when I was not.

She offered me her love and I threw it back at her.

Finally, she left because she had to.

Yet, I loved her. I missed her.

I missed her laugh. I missed her humor. I missed her crazy hair sticking straight up in the morning.

I missed her courage. I missed her honesty. I missed her passion for what the world offers.

She inspired me to take the greatest chance of my life.

Eight years ago I made the most important phone call of my life and asked her if she would have me.

Three weeks later I was in New York.

The road from there twists and grows foggy in places.

Over years, we hurt each other more than any two people should.

We fought and we struggled, and we tried to escape from what we had.

We tried to hate each other, but never could.

There are many stories.

Some interesting. Many funny. Many more awful.

I regret so much and wish I could take all the pain back.

But, like many dark times, what matters is what comes after.

She fled once again. This time to Texas.

I missed her laugh. I missed her humor. I missed her crazy hair sticking straight up in the morning.

I missed her courage. I missed her honesty. I missed her passion for what the world offers.

I hope she missed the same in me.

We couldnít stay away, and really we shouldnít.

A few months ago, I received the second most important phone call of my life.

We are going to be a family.

As we wanted. As we should.

Sometimes, after the dust settles, life does make sense.

Our Love brought me to New York.

Now it is taking me home.

.

.

.

The heat of the crucible burns away the weakness.

Nothing important is easy, nor should it be.

In the struggle we find what truly matters.


Comments:
Entered By Anonymous From Unknown
2007-12-17 17:02:45

I loved reading this. Thank you.


Entered By Aryeh From You know where
2007-12-17 21:13:00

Nice. I don't feel as romantic about New York as you do. I've been here forever. Best of luck. See you on the dark side of the moon


Entered By Ray From Austin
2007-12-18 19:58:24

Well said, buddy.


Entered By Jesse From Austin
2007-12-19 03:43:28

Indeed well said, and a pleasure to read. But more than that, I'm proud of you for living. Perhaps envious. Great leaps and the will to experience are things many take great steps to avoid. But how rich we can become when we stand to brave life and live. Here now... Life-rich Trey. Bravo.


Entered By Leslie From Texas
2007-12-19 18:57:10

Very, very nice, Trey. I hope you enjoy the next part of your adventure. It can't ever be described adequately enough, but it's wonderful and amazing and I'm sure you'll be outstanding. Congratulations!


Entered By C From
2008-01-22 01:54:31

That was very honest and beautiful. I love you!



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