The City of Bridges

Only a year ago I was asking myself what direction I should take my life, where I should go and by what means I would get there.  A year ago, I told myself that I wasn't ready to jump off the cliff into the ocean.  I was still cautious, still unsure.  That went out the window pretty quickly when Anth and MJ reminded me I'd always have a home with them and I realized I was ready for some spontaneity.  I was ready to make something of myself, apart from what I had maintained myself to be in the place I had grown to adulthood.  Is this adulthood?  A digression for another time.

A two weeks notice to my part-time-barely-making-it-job, a quick and hastily scheduled goodbye to my closest friends, bags packed and truck loaded, and before I knew it I was on the same road I had trekked in July of 2008, the first time I believed dreams could come true.  I was wrong then, and I'm likely wrong now, but I'm a bit proud of my insistence on trying, my temporary insanity.
The getting here was a story within itself, a nightmare of toll booths conspiratorially planned by Mapquest or Siri as soon as they were sure that I did not in fact, have any money on my person.  Traveling with a Tree, it should be noted with a sigh, is a breath of fresh air, no matter how frustrated he may have become.  I was relieved that it did not feel like goodbye.  And frightened.  But, relieved, mostly.  Cross that bridge when I come to it, I thought with windows down.  Let's forget temporarily that we were on our way to the city of.

A little more than a month ago, I wasn't aware I had any sense of adventure.  I did not know that I had it in me to run away.  I hadn't a clue that my survival instincts were about to be kicked into fight and flight.  That was, until Anthony asked me if anything was keeping me in Ohio.  Ohio, my lazy lover.  No, nothing was keeping me.  Especially not in my "nothing will keep me" crisis of twenty-four.  I'm not sure we ever consummated the relationship, anyway.  A clean break, full of tiny what-ifs that I'd prefer to ignore for now.  I am loving Pittsburgh in a very dreamlike - ah, deja-vu chills - sort of way.  Every moment feels right.  Wrong.  Right.  Wrong.  Mostly, right.  I've found, through various inquiries by strangers wondering about my impression of their beloved city, that it's hitting me in the same way that some people become interested in that person who is all wrong for them.  Pittsburgh is that guy with tattoos and ear gadges who rides his motorcycle without a helmet much too fast, and for some reason - I love the way he wears his jeans and that he never really smiles at me. 
On the other hand, there's a fair chance that Pittsburgh is trying to seduce me slow and gentle.  Storms have been regular.  Coffee has been delicious.  Bookstores are frequent.  My first Saturday alone I was in two different bookstores and three different coffee shops. Lawrenceville. Downtown Pittsburgh. Mt. Lebanon. I'm very happy overall, I tell myself and others, because after every adventure - my feet hurt, my legs are tired, and I'm content.  It's wonderful. 
Terrible, and worse. 
I am very afraid.  A hermit existing in a city.
Anthony told me once, several years ago now, that happiness was not something I wore well.  It's an itchy sweater in a cold room.
Ask anyone, they'll tell you, I'd rather shiver.

Crossing bridges, I wonder if I'm meant to burn any of them.  If so, where do I start?

A Tree whispered to me that I was free.  I think we both knew that wasn't true, for different reasons and some the same.  I wish I could explain to him my why.  Here's a start.  I woke up in a house alone, today.  Seth gave me a kiss on my cheek and stared at me a while.  I picked up my phone and noted two messages to respond to.  I thought of writing.  I thought of coffee.  But, before that, I noticed today.  Gray day, June the 30th.  Three years ago yesterday I bought the garment that hangs like an albatross in the basement.  "A love meant only for gods and angels.  And fairy tales," someone else wrote.  Crow caw.  Memory.  Remember.  Let go.

I have a second meeting scheduled with a tattooed young professional who's promised me a motorcycle ride.  His name means "battlefield."  This is significant.  Several days ago I met someone ten years older than I who told me I resembled a friend of his named "Morgan".  This is significant.  I have made one friend in this place, and have not ruined it, yet.  A reminder pops up on his phone as we're having lunch in a pizza shop in Dormont, "Is this a dream?"  This is significant.  As significant as the spaces and lines I have placed between myself and others.  I will not be building more bridges until I've crossed a few.  
Oh, hello, Pittsburgh, you're still here I see.  Second cup of coffee has grown a bit cold.  Let's see if we can use this smile I've been practicing.