New York City, alone on a crowded street. Everyone’s watching. Nobody’s connecting. To be left alone is a friendly gesture. To be asked about life is to be rejected. The silence is haunting as if we are losing touch with the purpose of life. To know and to be known. Connection. To be kind to strangers, rather than act like they don’t even exist. To smile at parents with children, rather than be annoyed and inconvenienced by the unsophistication of a child. What have we become? Lost? Lonely? Longing… for more, but we’re too scared, fearful, to admit it or reach out for help from those who are willing. Guards are up. Judgements in check. The gift of vulnerability is now a curse, it’s weakness. Living against the tide of the Creators design. Shame is abounding. We’re all coy, bound up by feelings of unworthiness, holding back. Living before the face of God becomes impossible because with a society of smoke and mirrors dominating every corner. We lose our voices and frustration ensues, not sure why we’re depressed or can’t shake the feeling of loneliness, so we stay quiet and put on the smile and the look, the cold hard layer of numbness that it takes to stay up in the paper and plastic world. Maybe New York is just a view into the hearts of humanity. We’re a long way from home, and we see no street signs. Where will we end up? Where do we go from here? This can’t be home, but there’s got to be more before we die alone. Tell me there’s more. Tell me there’s a place called home, because there’s no home like place, you know, that place where you belong. Yes, that place. That’s home. Please, somebody, love me.