Beyond The Mystery Of Death

Chapter Four: Love for this City.

Waking up feeling so small and empty in a big city full of millions of people, huge buildings, wide

streets but not so much of a big heart to it I'm afraid. New York city, the city that never sleeps, oh boy!

It's what every man could ever imagine, the lights beaming beyond its tall buildings, skies are roaming

around as if you can feel them touching you so softly, it's one huge urban environment that can fulfill

the dreams of a dreamer. But all of that can't be compared to the most beautiful park I've ever seen,

I'm so lucky just to live across the street to it, Central Park, the huge green area inside of the big apple

city. I know it's always so damn crowded these days, people just going on and on walking their dogs,

running like it's some kind of a track and other nasty and uncivilized business I hate it! It has lost its

magic, but the sight of its beautiful trees and blooming lavender roses makes me dream. I for once

every late night, pull up a chair next to my window and have a peek at the glamorous beauty of the

park while it is so quiet and peaceful...Even if it can feel so lonely there sitting alone, but I will feel the

essence of its beauty that nobody seems to appreciate.

My name is Harry Sanders, I'm 65 years old and I've been living in this city my whole life. I grew up

in a simple home in Queens with my other 7 siblings, we had something special about my family, we

cherished class and elegance as well as being taught morals and respect, and it was time for embracing

such traits, but not so much in time of war. My dad used to be an independent writer for the papers, he

had a thing to it, he used to tell me when I was young "Boy! People won't get your hopes and dreams,

but your writings will, you will write the words in which you seek to be understood..." His words

affected me deeply, and I still remember to this day...My dad died after being recruit to go to fight in

the Vietnam war when I was 18 years old, that's when I just started working for the New York Times

and follow my dad's gaudiness for expressing my hopes and dreams.

The war was over, the world started breathing for a while, and I got married to the love of my life

Marilyn. A beautiful young lady in her early 20's, with golden-brown eyes and soft lips like feathers,

her skin was pale as the moon, her hair was a series of golden chains, she was a beauty to behold. Oh

god, I had the best days of my life with her, the memories of such a great time we had were something

not easy to be erased. We shared every emotion, every feeling, we had a small apartment in Brooklyn to get things started, but unfortunately, she didn't settle for that and wanted to go somewhere

else...We

may have shared a strong love for each other, but we never shared the same love for the city...

After just 2 years of marriage, Marilyn left me...Heartbroken, feeling sad and empty all the damn time.

I was devastated by Marilyn's leaving and I couldn't believe that her last words for me were that I was