I walked on my favourite street in the city--Charles Street--for the better part of an hour. I listened to Jane Monheit's In The Sun and saw everything as a photograph. I freezeframed the bronze statues in the dog parks in my mind's eye, mourned the shut down cafes and jazz pub, and I let the freezing cold air sink into my bones. I wanted everything I saw to own me.

I walked into the furniture store that has the velour crimson chaise lounge in the window, instead of just admiring it from outside. And I realized how content I am to view what I long for from a distance...how few times it occurs to me that I can possess something that appeals to me, that I can walk into a place and have a right to be there. I don't even press my dirty little nose against the glass, content with just that. I walk by the windows that are a view into rooms I wish would welcome me.

A small effort, but I learned it is easy to walk into a place. Most people don't know you don't belong unless you tell them you don't.