Another Brooklyn

I looked back to my teenage years, mining them, rediscovering the deep love I had for my friends, the startling joy and fear of first loves, the will’s intensity to survive, and the slow-motion ferocity of the end of childhood.

No one had this dream for me. No one held out a hand saying, Here, take this.

Maybe this is how it happened first for everyone—adults promising us their own failed futures.