Bob Dylan is playing over the speakers here at work and I am sitting next to a window overlooking the black Hudson and looking at the little lights building up to the sky across the river on the Jersey shore, spread across the black land, these little amber dots, these little dots of light that puncuate the night sky in such number. And yet, depsite the numbers, the sky wins and they seem like lonely defenses against the night. I am drinking tea and am as sad and as happy as I have been in so long. Since probably last year, working here, doing the same routine. And the music is so good today, and that is about it, and I am trying to be okay with that, that depression is just as natural as happiness and I should savor it for what it is.

It might have started with sitting next to Matt on the subway this afternoon and talking to him, but I think it was there earlier and I am not sure why, and sitting next to Matt was so nice in a way that just felt so comfortable and made me so happy that I didn't desire him and could talk to him somewhat casually. Maybe it started when he got off at his stop and that comfortableness was no longer there, when there was an empty seat next to me and an unread book in my bag that I didn't want to start because I only had one more stop.