I fall in love with the city each time I go. When the light takes paths through the high-rises, or through the trees in central park at sunset. When you are literally caught off guard by the beauty of someone’s appearance. When you walk through the MET and clutch your chest because the beauty of a piece consumes you for several moments.
When you walk down streets and across avenues. When you order a drink and it costs you an arm and a leg. When British men chase you through the Lower East Side professing their attraction. When you walk through empty pathways of a park and you sing melodies under your breath.
When you remember the first kiss you had in the city, or the last kiss you had with the man who kissed you first. When you remember his face, your confusion and the warm sake that you shot with new friends in a swanky place.
When you remember the summer you spent dutifully walking from port authority, down Broadway to 28th then across to Park Avenue 3 days a week for 3 months. When you make flirty eyes at boys you know grew up elsewhere. When you quick change your outfit in secluded areas, or when you dine greedily on fruit sold by street vendors who fidget. Gulping down water as you walk 40 blocks.
When you climb 10 flights of stairs in an apartment on East Housten, only to collapse in giggles with friends. When you catch a glimpse of Emma Watson, hiding in plain sight as she walks through the MET. When you follow her to make sure. Only down a hallway or two.
When you make friends with people you bump into, or stand next to. When you share a sympathetic smile with someone else stuck in a line. When you meet a friend of a friend who changes the perspective you had on your life. When you make new memories on the streets, rooftops, and subways.
I fall in love with the city each time I go there, but until I can call it home, it’s nice to sleep in a bed, in a quiet little town in rural Pennsylvania.