pondering departure(s)

i am sitting on the huron pier (greenpoint, brooklyn)
– staring at the mid-day light refracting off of the east river shading the shadows of the buildings of mid-town manhattan

i have been quite ill for two weeks
– first the flu, now a lower respiratory tract infection

age is catching up with me

in order to move forward (with intention / with purpose) i have to let so many things go . . . all attachments to the past must be released in order to embrace this present (this future)

releasing is all encompassing – daunting / intimidating / threatening . . . et cetera . . . & mandatory

so many things are, “right in front of me” . . .
– amazing job
– amazing relationship
– amazing apartment
just to name three damn near numbs me into immobility

sitting here
watching each individual cell composed of two parts hydrogen one part oxygen combine & crash into this forgotten steel & concrete beach collectively as waves inspires me

water has always taught me

i grew up at the intersection of the mississippi & missouri rivers . . . i was only & always “myself” there

i fought for it

i used to go, once a week, to the “shore” & listen to the waves meander

thirty plus years later i am sitting – here & no, the world no longer is similar to that place of distinct lines & anchors

here / now . . . i have to let them go (float out into the world without me) – not an easy task – but, i must

i want to get down into the water (but it’s gross & i’m sick) so i won’t . . .

i will instead be the light that illuminates the discarded brick & mortar of greenpoint, brooklyn (shining just below a sheltering bulge of algae long accustomed to the touch of steel) & move on . . . leaving all i remember of brooklyn behind me

i will miss this place

as i miss carroll gardens; park slope south; fort greene; red hook; williamsburg & windsor terrace

i can learn to coalesce, collaborate & concede . . . i have to

so good-bye greenpoint / goodbye to most that made greenpoint real . . . & thank you

i am on the cusp of becoming . . .
– the shore of dreams –

i have wanted to live i bed-stuy my entire life

i will visit you frequently but you are no longer my home

the room(s) i made have turned into a way of living . . .
of sharing space / of becoming

i am no longer afraid of succeeding (roma)
– i am now breathing my life

anchors up

sails down

’tis time to live !!

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