I woke up wanting to take a bus to Binghamton, New York 

Straight to Binghamton, New York
Straight to God’s now little moldy slice of heaven
Straight to the restaurant you work at
even though you're not on today
And doing something like asking your boss - whose name I forget -
If it would be okay for me to take over your shift - so you could finally get some sleep -  and serve you crepes
and I would tell her that I had loads of experience working at Max Brenner’s in the city
and I would refrain from mentioning that I only worked there for two weeks…
and She’d pretend to have heard of the restaurant to match the excitement I'm trying to sell my lie to her with.

I ended up taking the longer way to work and still getting here half an hour early.
Unintentionally keeping the promise that I'd go early to write on the roof with a direct line of sight to the Brooklyn bridge
And before I talk about how a bridge is a perfect metaphor for love
I want to talk about the C train I took instead of the Express A train.

I feel bad for getting on the train before the people who have been waiting there far longer than I have
Just because I was lucky with timing
Much like how I met you so early into my life.
I often think I took a shortcut that most people are never given,

One that I sometimes oftentimes have no idea how to navigate.

But instead of dwelling on that,

I admire just how cute the mixed race baby that just rolled onto the train is.

And I feel like the 1% because I have plenty of leg room on the train

And I turn my attention back to the poetry book I am reading

And read a line that breaks my heart:

“My No is always quicker than my Yes.”

And I have a poignant moment
Like the steps kids take to avoid creasing their new Jordans

Because I crawl into it for the rest of the train ride,

And think about how

"My Bad is always quicker than my Good."

Thinking of how anti-cogent the words leaving my mouth were during our conversation last night,
Paying no mind to the fact that I've had the same song on repeat for the past half hour
And dwelling on how whether I've realized it or not
We've been taking the sculpture class I've been planning to take you to all this time
We've been making a vase
To hold tears and happiness
And forging it in
Hot disagreements, a hot miscommunication kiln

And it’s a beautiful vase but there are still some soft spots. 
And I'm staring at the Brooklyn Bridge on my workplace roof now
And I'm thinking of how perfect a metaphor a bridge is for love 

And how I’ll have to write a separate poem for it at a later time

Because a Bridge
carries an immense weight
is monumental

is desire to be connected incarnate

is a muse

is suspended and stable at the same time

is something that lasts for as long as it is maintained

I don’t mean to make this a bridge poem,

I don’t mean to make this anything other than good,

I don’t mean to be the thing keeping you up at night thinking,

I don’t mean to be your inspiration for writing sad songs (only happy ones),

I don’t mean to write poems every time I think things have gone awry

I don’t mean to be anti-cogent sometimes oftentimes.

I do mean to actually take that sculpting class

With you, anywhere.

I do mean to build a Bridge

With you, anywhere.

I do mean it when I say I am

With you, everywhere.