There's a reason every movie climax happens on the Brooklyn Bridge. Walk it at 7 pm in late August and you'll understand. The stone warms the air. The cables stripe the sky. A runner passes you, another runner passes you, a couple passes you holding hands like they've never done it before.
I walked it alone the week I moved here. I walked it alone the week a boy broke my heart. I walked it with a friend when she got into grad school. I walked it in silence with my father in April; he didn't say much, but he held my arm on the slope down, and I knew.
The bridge is a place to make peace. With a city you don't yet know. With a version of yourself you are outgrowing. With someone, even if that someone will never know you made peace.
Halfway across, I always stop. I look south toward the harbor. I say thank you, quietly, to nobody in particular, for being here.
Then I walk the rest of the way.
Love,