This was actually a little drabble inspired by Ms Steinert’s visit. I have no idea what was going through my head..
There’s something beautiful about the city, she thinks. The rush of people in colourful clothes excite her as they rush by her, each step a beat in a song that isn’t quite finished. She’s been here a year and hasn’t got tired of New York, in fact every day reveals something new to her that makes her fall in love a little more: the sheltered coffee shop on Greene Street that she’s come to call a home from home, the infinite number of vintage stores you can find if you look or the people she meets.
Out of everything New York has to offer her, the most beautiful thing, is its art. She flies through the museums, day by day, losing herself in the colour and shapes. Sharp lines elongate from canvasses, crying out to her. Vibrant reds wrap around her, drowning her in their warmth. Stone bodies reduce her to tears, her round face quaking with grief in utter contrast with the impassive grey stonework.
Every day is a new adventure for Carly, as a silent observer in the warmblooded city. Ethereal and invisible, she lives the life she didn’t have.