the crash that is the dance

Some nights the humanity of the subway is enough to make me cry, to make with pulse with the emotions of this city. It is unlikely other places to get onto a bus and feel the earnest, urging beat of other people, but in this place on this night it is what seems right in the world. The night is balmy and bright and I was lucky enough to spend the day in the company of people I just love and the heart of this city does not scare me tonight. I want only to be a part of it. To have city dirt in my hair and and an ache in my feet and the lightest dash of sweat across my back. It is a wholesome feeling-not at all like mom's oatmeal cookies, if my mother made oatmeal cookies-much more like a perfectly synchronized swimming routine between yourself and the tidal wave above you until you look up and let go and realize it the crash that is the beautiful dance.