I walk past the old bank that served as our office until it became a bicycle
shop, a rare moment in that part of town, where I fought tooth and nail to
return to, though all the parking lots are gone, replaced by buildings nobody
can afford to live in, the view from the second floor window where she sat gone,
as well the New York skyline, blocked by brick as if it is ceased to exist,
leaving only the memory of what we could see when we still could see it, and
this intense sense of loss for something we can never get back, a changing
world we cannot change back, regardless of how many times we click our heels or
how often we chant there is no place like home, especially now that home is no
longer home
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