I remember the last time someone gave me Broadway tickets. After I left the theater I found myself in the lights and crowds of Times Square, and like tonight, the weather was nice, so I decided to walk across town. It seems like a long time ago, but it wasn’t. I knew you, but I wasn’t thinking of you.
The last time I took this walk across town, I was meeting someone else.
Tonight, my phone was in my hand. It was you I was going to call and you I expected when it rang. But the universe had read my mind, and it was Simon on the other end.
He was in the city, just finished dinner.
“I’m with my coworkers. It’s loud. I’ll talk to you later?” I didn’t wait to hear if he wanted something.
And when I left my friends and turned east, down that stretch of 42nd street that’s quiet at this time of night, where the Empire State Building rises above you on one side and the Chrysler Building on the other, I called you. You were only just leaving work, and you sounded tired.
Tonight I went home alone. And in the morning I’ll wake up by myself. I’ll miss you, and I won’t miss the way things were.