This one speaks for itself.
The Big Apple of my eye
She was good to me
in the days that I was hers,
when I gorged on her
glittering anonymity
and drank deeply of her
vivacity and grit.
Two decades ago,
Manhattan was my oasis,
a oneness with myself,
possibility.
But now
she is a shadow
of her former self,
wicked and withered,
bereft
of spirit and hope.
And still, I love her.
Because laying her to rest
means euthanizing a piece of my soul.
*Image by Jo Wiggijo from Pixabay.