Yesterday, I tore up the map of NYC. It was staring me from the blank wall and it was too many thoughts. Past and present. And the future is always an illusion.
NYC is no place to go back to.
I tore up the map into pieces, so small I cannot put the streets together. My memories torn apart. Not quite.
The winds of anguish, pleading to stop the bleeding of emotions of exhilaration at skyscrapers, trees, bricks, and ageless brisk walking. My need to create a blank page was greater than this anguish. I need a blank canvas again.
So yesterday, I tore up the map of NYC, I shredded its streets to cleanse myself of it in my head.
Can I have a canvas to cover again now?