I need no map

It's time for that walk. Sometimes once a week. Sometimes two or three times.

A kiss will set me out one door. A sigh will follow me down the stairs. A smile will take me home. The last thing I want to do is depart, but sometimes you have to go home.

Third Street to Fifth to Carroll to the bridge to Bond to Union to Van Brunt. With variations every time. I can't seem to streamline this journey. I don't want to.

I find a reason to stop and look. I sit on a stoop. I forget I'm cold. I peek in between broken slats on a wooden fence. I continue two blocks in the wrong direction or backtrack to change the view.

I take my time. I let my mind wander as my feet find their own way. Sometimes I take pictures of what I see. Other times I can't be bothered. Or it's just too cold to handle chilled metal. I need fingerless gloves.

This walk is not just a meander. It serves a purpose. It takes me from one part of my life to another -- a bridge from an apartment in Park Slope to another in Red Hook: physical destinations that are my past, my present and my future. Their distance apart grows smaller and smaller with each passing day -- though that space can't be counted with any metric system that I know.

Only to be measured by two hearts.