The Only Living Boy in New York (Poem/Visual)

I’m on the Long Island train
Headed to Montauk
to you.
Tears hit like late spring rain,
proof of what I already knew.
New York, lonely at its best.
I’m still gasping,
overthinking,
running out of breath.
You’ve stolen my sanity,
my rest.
The skyline shrinks as I approach.
We’ve survived our fall,
but only barely
like an unwatered black rose,
forgotten in the hallway.
Our goodbye
short,
unsweet.
I gather my belongings,
packed and neat.
Off I go,
back to Brooklyn,
feeling like
the only living boy in New York.