First

newyork

Everything is a first. There are no seconds. There are no thirds. There are only firsts. Firsts have the juice. Firsts have the passion. Firsts have the thirst and the curiosity. Firsts are the things we live for.

It was June. A warm but hazy June. I could see the Central Park and the Hudson from above. That is all I could recognize. It was my first.

My palms were sweating, my heart was beating faster than a relaxed heart, my stomach was aching from the knot in its middle. It was my first.

My luggage arrived, and I was out bBreathing the warm, humid, smog –filled air. I was at home. For the very first time.

I got into a cab. It took me through the streets I saw for the very first time. Then I smiled, and my eyes got filled with tears. I just passed by the Lincoln Centre. It was my first time.

The next day I bought my first metro card. The heat caressed my face as the subway arrived. It was my first time. I was happy.

Four years passed. And I could see the Central Park and the Hudson for the 5th time. But it’s a lie. It was not the 5ht. It was the first. My palms were sweating, my heart was beating faster than a relaxed heart, my stomach was aching from the knot in its middle. It was the 5th first time. Because everything is a first. There are no seconds. There are no thirds. New York has only firsts. Life should only have firsts.

(This short story was written for Gotham write-ins in New York City. Prompt: First)

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