I’ve spent the last fourteen months with you, and boy was it great.
To the rest of the world, you’re a star. You’re Carrie Bradshaw and Miracle on 34th Street and the place where Ross and Rachel fell in love. You’re the city that never sleeps. The place that Frank Sinatra croons about and the place Lady Gaga calls her hometown.
To me, you aren’t any of these things. To me, you’re a little bit of a bitch. You eat my hard-earned paycheck for breakfast. You smell a little funny, especially in the summer, and you’re loud as hell. Your streets are overcrowded, your sidewalks dirty, and don’t even get me started on the price of a beer!
And yet, even on our worst days, I still kind of love you. You know that bagels are my favorite things to eat on weekends and you deliver them right to my doorstep and you always make sure there’s a piece of pizza waiting for me around the corner, no matter what time of the night. You fully support (sometimes even encourage) happy hours and day drinking and Sunday fundays. You make it so my goal to never eat in the same restaurant twice is easily achievable. You’re home to my favorite park in the world and my favorite grocery store (I heart fairway) and my favorite place to get grilled cheeses and even my most favorite place to drink beer out of a boot. I’ve slept on couches and air mattresses and hardwood floors for weeks on end just so I could experience all you have to offer. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
There’s nowhere in the world like you, New York. You’re not my first city love, and you won’t be my last, but I’ll never forget ya. Not in a million years.
sincerely and with love,