People dislike winter. Not me. The low temperatures and high precipitation turn the city into a map, desolate, and I get to be with the city, just us. After a winter storm, the snow transforms the street lights into a blue haze and I walk inside the center of that living color. Without busy feet and slow tourists, I gaze once again at the buildings of my youth. The Empire State, the Chrysler, the Flat Iron, yes, but also the cottages of Forest Hills, the villages in the Bronx, the secret garden in Elizabeth Street. New York is made of corners and my memories are embedded in their concrete beams, cobblestones and bedrock. I recall my first kiss in Central Park West. Heartbreak in Harlem. This city is where I first knew success and tasted failure. Where I learned to walk again. People hate winter but I don’t. It’s just us, the city and me. The memories. The kiss. The warm goodbye. The cold days. It surrounds me.

It is in me.
And.
We are.