CXIII.

My house is the center of a wheel with a few spokes extending out into Brooklyn, maybe beyond. One down 4th Ave. to my school, where I spend 50 hours a week, sometimes more, occasionally less. I don’t resent it because I’m doing good work, we’re doing good work. It’s all-consuming but worth it, right now. And time put in now could, possibly, be an investment in making next year easier.

Another spoke goes to Franklin Ave., where someone lives whom I’ve come to love and spend frighteningly large amounts of time with, and so far, despite the little voices that warn that we all need balance, it feels great.

Some weeks that’s all, a slice of Brooklyn defined by three points and a cluster of day-to-day stopping points between them.

There are other connections that have started to feel tenuous, to my old life in Washington Hts. and teaching in the Bronx and to the people I was friends with then. I know that connection is still there but I know I need to give it more of my energy, travel that path more often.

People’s lives are changing and it is drawing them away from me. I want and don’t want to let them go; I want and don’t want to draw back closer to them. At times in the past this same circumstance has felt like an abyss, made me feel suffocated by loneliness. Right now, I just think it is what it is. Change.

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