Dear Brooklyn,

Sometimes I miss you. I miss Court Street, Smith Street, Atlantic Avenue. One time a woman stopped me on Atlantic Ave. and asked me if I knew the way to the hospital... I said I didn't know. But I did know. I didn't tell her because I didn't really trust or believe that I knew which way was up or down. I did know even though I said I didn't. I always felt like a lost stray a little shy of the streets. I was turned inside out and scattered all sorts of ways. It's true, my sense of direction was a little off and maybe I was lost, but your streets and addresses weren't the problem. So Brooklyn, Court Street, Smith Street, Atlantic Ave if you're reading... I don't blame you anymore. You were just being you, and I wasn't really ready to accept that. I've changed and I really think we'd get along a little better now. See it really was me and wasn't you even though you could be a little harsh at times. I'll always remember how you taught me to ride the subway, savor the sweetness of Italian ice, the long walks to the promenade in the summer sun, sweat soaked shirt watching the traffic roll on the BQE, people leaning against the rail alone with the manhattan skyline. We had some good times.