You'll miss her most when you roam'Cause you'll think of her and think of homeThe good old Brooklyn Bridge . . . [what is it then between us]

5

What is it then between us?

What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

 

Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not,

I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,

I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the waters around it,

I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,

In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,

In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me,

I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,

I too had receiv’d identity by my body,

That I was I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I should be of my body. - Walt Whitman

 

When we go through beautiful special moments most of us never really appreciate its value immediately rather it takes time to process, to compare. I love that place. I really do. It makes me think of history, of time, of beauty. It makes me think what it really really means to be alive ♥️

 

Very often my mom says to me why didn’t you understand something when you were 16. Maybe I was self-cantered, maybe too young to understand. Maybe time didn’t come yet. First time I read “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” probably the same time of the year just 21 years ago. So I read the poem. Yes, there was something. To say that any feelings went through me would be a lie. It didn’t. And then life happened. And I looked at it differently. The same way I look differently at the sky today than 20 years ago.

Done