Dear New York,
I quite like you. I like the way you light up at Christmastime. The trees and lights on everything make this girl’s heart smile. I like all your stuff. The buildings. The parks. The museums. There’s nothing quite like strolling through the Met on a cold, rainy day. I like the culture and the fact that you can see a different play on every night of the week and that you could never run out of places to eat. I like that you have more than four cool coffee places. I think the Subway isn’t nearly as efficient and logical as the Tube, but I like that it’s there. There’s something beautiful in the way it connects us, brings us closer to one another. I like that almost all of my favorite books come from you. I like that artists sequester themselves in teeny tiny apartments in your most hidden corners and create things worth creating, things that make the world beautiful. I like that you inspire them to do so. I like that those same people set up shop on the sidewalks or on Subway platforms and delight us with their songs. I like that I would never have to drive a car. Like one of my favorite female protagonists, I’m very fond of walking. I like that you’re a conglomeration of anything and everything. Historic churches are embedded between glass skyscrapers, and overheard conversations take place in a muddle of accents. I like how every person in this impossibly crowded place is grappling with the same things. How in the world are we supposed to do this thing called life? I like that none of us knows. I like that we’re figuring it out together. I like that people like you. That even after I leave you, there’s something that makes me want to come back.
Until next time, New York.