Under the muted silver sky, lies the anaemic city of New York. Where tiredness meets insanity, and puffs of dense smoke meet the sparkling skyline. Through a break in the sombre clouds, soft beams of light gleam down, reflecting off Mother Nature’s blankets of iridescent snowfall. Winter’s way of saying, Good Morning, New York! Every place in sight was embraced with crystallised sheets of pearl dust, formed atop of cool metal rails and glowing amber lampposts. There was beauty in the cold. But of course, the beautiful landscape doesn’t last long. It never does. Interlaced between the congested streetlife, masses of choleric and oblivious individuals consume the street in an uncomfortably familiar manner. The Manhattan scene was overflowing, and it quickly became suffocating. 

Listen. Hushed voices hide amongst the hurried footsteps, executing a poor job of concealing themselves – their thick layers of ignorant despise audibly present. In the near distance, a vehicle viciously sounds its alarm, causing a string of profuse curses to tumble out of a stranger’s mouth and hit the filthy pavement. The arctic avenue was a disarray of littered plastic and metal decay, cardboard sleeping bags existent on every corner – the home for the homeless. Hatred grows louder as the city murmurs in disgrace. One voice, however, stood out more than the others. The voice imitant of the ear-shattering gales of bitter ice and sleet Winter had forsaken upon New York. The voice shouting out to the unusual – no, revolting couple standing hand over hand. How dare they. How dare you.

Heart beats fast. Faster.

Inescapable. It wasn’t long before the blizzard took over, threatening to devour the disgusting and vile offence that laid before it. Glacial gusts of potent prejudice blew out the jaws of the storm; roaring words of distaste into the abandoned air. Soon the harsh hum of the hurricane will tear their bodies apart. Disconnected, in a state of difference. They have been thrown against the grate, raw cheeks laying against the heartless concrete sidewalk. Vision is hazily smudged as the deep purple shadows of suffering, creep upon the surface of the wounded. But no one will stop to help the injured couple, no, of course not. After all, it was their fault for unfolding the creases of their imperfect love to the rest of society. 

They deserve it. 

Look. A painted hand, the colour of ink, reaches out for help, but no one stirs. Neon lights continue flashing, rattling cars keep edging along the packed avenue and foot traffic doesn’t slow one bit. The world moves on. A deep shade of scarlet red seeps into the dense layer of snow. Hurt is evident. But watch as the glistening snowflakes fall against his soft chocolate skin, gently melting and blending into the grimace of pain smeared across his face. A hand is there for him, your hand. There to pull him home. The blizzard had calmed, and relief began to ease its way back into your mind as you trudged the rest of your journey home.

Suddenly it was dusk, and the rose and lilac hues began to spill into the sky. Beauty, once again, saturated the bittersweet atmosphere of twinkling lights stretched across the cruel, burdened city. It felt almost peaceful. Almost. He felt secure as you held him, tender and sweet, alleviating the aches of his discomfort. He was so warm, like golden flames dancing across the crackling timber of the fireplace. You couldn’t help yourself but be drawn to him in the dead of night; for his skin was the rich umber earth, and yours was the ivory snow that fell to it every Winter morning. When race met race, you were clearly aware of the frightful consequences, however you weren’t scared anymore. You braved the storm together, and that was all you needed because this was home, and so was he. And with that, the sun sank gently into the shimmering night of the city that never sleeps.