Through action, we bend language

I keep trying to write things down
to clear my head and to forgive myself
to gain perspective on the vast array of incredible experiences I've had the luxury to share
I can't stop typing, as if the letters themselves
are bandages
wrapping tighter word by word
I met an artist yesterday
she was disillusioned by New York City
the dirty, loud, incredulous way of the streets
the streets as our hearts
I told her it gets better
she worried that the trees would never change
Their green arms to never change, masking their growth
I asked her how long she'd been here
3 months
I told her to wait 1 more
Greenpoint's already turning Orange I said, while I showed her a picture of Kent Street
She's smiling now, I can tell somehow
I'm off to a good start
helping instead of holding