“My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please..”

Sonnet 147: William Shakespeare

If my love is a fever, than my longing will no doubt be the end of me.

Between the thick echoes of car horns and the idle air in the city, I manage to find solace from the fiery, hellish orb in the sky under a canopy. It is 95 degrees outside. I have just left a gig and am taking a few moments of quiet contemplation. You know, in the peaceful serenity that is the LES..

A bell chimes next to me as a glass door swings open. A man and a woman exit, almost taken aback by my presence as I lean against the brick wall, searching for my lighter. I am, without a doubt, glistening with sweat in my poly-blend tube top, and I have given up on my frizzy hair in this humidity. The woman looks me up and down, pursing her lips as she passes me in front of the man, judging my unkempt-unassuming nature. Unknowing that I know the exact Carolina Herrera perfume she’s wearing, and that I could spot her knockoff Chanel bag a mile away. The man, on the other hand, gives me a nod and I see his eyes trickle down to my chest. By this point, I’m lighting my joint with a furrowed brow and attempt to remove the hair sticking to my neck.

One thing about me, I can just as easily rationalize, as I can romanticize something. I continue uptown towards the train, seeing all the love in the streets. And the rats. I’m constantly enamored by the things around me. I imagine what it would be like to be one of those couples laughing, arm in arm – probably full of pasta and wine. And love. And then I see a group of dirty men, one in particular, yelling at passerby’s, spouting gibberish and scaring tourists. And I wonder about that too.. if there ever happens to be an initiative to limit tourism.. he could be our guy. I smile to myself as I pass them, adjusting my sunglasses.

Being in love in the summer is nearly as bad as being alone. But if you’re really lucky, like me, you can be both. Falling for every dark crevice, mesmerized by the plight of the common man. I laugh at the idea – practically swooning in my solitude.

The heat only seems to grow as the sun sets between the buildings, and I fasten my hair with a clip. I could stay.. and sweat. Entertain the horrors. This feeling follows me home anyway. This feverish longing.