You're standing at 71st and Columbus, back against brick, in the cold. You don't see me yet, but I am there and see you, hands buried in your pockets against the cold, head down, gently rubbing your lip on the edge of your jacket. You have a bobby pin in your red bobbed hair and I see your boots, new suede toes and blue leather leafing up the sides. Your socks poke out above. The New York cold presses in on my cheeks. My ears sting.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Your smile opens a new world in me.