The City never stops. Until something silences its horn echoes, and halts its colliding pedestrian paths and swerving taxis with perspective. That day it was the news delivered via phone, on the corner of 120th and Amsterdam, beneath clouds that promised rain. A little girl was about to lose her mother.
I armed my defenses immediately. People continued past me in all directions, unaware that the world was about to change, and I coulnd't cry. I refused. But my heart hurt. And every bit of logic - rational and not - screamed for answers and cursed the illusion of fairness. I wished myself home where I could proactively work to fix what had happened. To hug that little girl. To be hugged back.
How many people would pass me today and every day with leaden hearts and shortened breath, overcome with grief, without my even knowing?
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