A love letter to New York

We tried this once, and it was rocky at best. I was more infatuated with Snickers bars than you. But aint it funny what a little maturity (me) and hygiene (you) can do. Sparks. Oh, what love can do. I never meant to fall in love with you. I feel like I’m 12 all over again, meeting you and declaring “we’ll end up together someday.” I’d only seen your sparkle then. And though I’ve seen you fall apart (hello, 4,5,6 train) and mistreat me (hello, 2011), I only love you more now. I know your worst and love you for it. I love you for what you’ve made me.

This may not be a happily-ever-after story, but I know I’m better for having met you. Every time we spend time together, it’s like I’m meeting you anew all over. I forget the bad, blinded by the good. I never imagined myself with someone older, but you… dating you is like living vicariously through you. You cook French, and I see the Rue de Cler. Your pizza makes me see Naples. You cook Chinese and I see…whatever China looks like.

This is the most beautiful relationship ever. Maybe it will last, maybe not. Maybe I’ll miss you if I leave, maybe not. You’re not the clingy type and neither am I, but I know you’ll always be here if I come back—ready to fall in love all over again, ready to catch me, ready to wrap your rich arms around me.

Oh, it’s love. For now.

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