For all of those of you who devise a complicated picture of the glitter of 5th Avenue commingling with the slums of the Bronx, here for you is a picture of my old home in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn. And that is the the car of the current maladroit owners who can't seem to discover just where their stars fit into a constellation in the galaxy of New York.
But really, what is life more than a giant constellation? We spend our entire lives trying to pinpoint the exact location where not only will our stars fit, but where they will shine the brightest. How does anyone know where their luminosity is blazing to the extent that someone recognizes it? It isn't possible until the star has lent themselves to all spots that it could possibly belong to.
I love being home and seeing familiar faces that I had been seeing in my sleep. My deepest desire was to go home, but was afraid of what could be lost. I indulged, and what i was previously afraid of losing what could be lost, and it was lost. It was lost, but I'm doing just fine.
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