Perhaps it is well we do not root here just yet.
The theory rings true, but the details are all wrong--
--the lights too bright, the space too small,
The ceaseless rush of humanity outside leaking through the walls
And leaving our little sanctuary
Never quite inviolate.
We have no feasts to cook,
Nor found families to share them with.
We may well never go out in true unmasked ease again.
Yet still we salvage mismatched chairs from the sidewalk on garbage day,
Jaywalk whenever we can get away with it,
Fill and refill metro cards a thousand times over.
Neither of us can truly stay, that much is clear--
--neither of our impossible shining princesses are in this impossible shining castle--
--but perhaps, for now,
All this place has to be
Is enough.