I. Chair
One of many 34th street chairs. At this hour, all others of its kind are piled together across the park, but none are locked. There is a level of trust here I rarely witness elsewhere. Opportunity for these objects to journey, untethered. This one sits alone, away from the conversation and the warm embrace of its family. Sometimes love means departure. Late last night it was carried gingerly by a passerby, one of many lovers in its lifetime seeking an early morning meal and a place to watch over the park. A love still hanging in the air, distant and fleeting. This is how the chair knows love. To take new forms, to find new love and lovers in perpetuity. This is how the chair knows itself. A place to sit as a respite to one’s (many) journeys. This thing was made for love.
II. Motorcycle
The love this one knows is long distance – temporal and physical. Perhaps taboo. A long-standing love that has known many forms, many names. They once lived and loved freely, but now find themselves relegated to small gifts (glove) and unsuccessful escape attempts. As time has passed, this love has been reconfigured so many times that the motorcycle itself must admit its past selves may not recognize it. Now it faces partial attention and infrequent visits, wondering what may take the place of hope in its heart as it wanes. It whispers to me messages to pass to its lover should I find them: “how is it that I find myself now incomplete without you? Why weren’t you there to protect me? Where do we go from here?” I do not find any opportunity to seek these answers.
III. Table
On the corner opposite of the chair, the table finds itself leaning towards ecstasy. Yearning. It has been watching the chair for what seems like ages now, though it has been merely a few hours since the chair’s arrival on the scene. And yet it finds itself fallen victim to the kind of love and longing that has such gravity it cannot help but stumble towards it. Such gravity that it’s palpable. Walking on these streets in the early morning hours I myself can feel it, the source of today’s heat though the sun has not yet risen. The table insists it was not looking for love, but reminds me that indeed all love is circumstantial. All love is circumstantial and this one is unrequited (yet) and beautiful (yet).