Ask anyone you know, who has lived in New York for years and then moved away, it leaves a hole in your heart. Provided, of course, you left The City on good terms. The hole is different for everyone, but nonetheless, it is still there. A void, a something missing. I knew that in moving to the West Coast (a whopping year & 7 months ago), NYC would always haunt me. I was prepared to go back east to get my Big-Apple-fix as often as I had to, in order to feel right. And yet, somehow I still feel somewhat disconnected. There is something to be said about being in the city and feeling it's heartbeat, it's everyday ebb and flow. One day: monotony, the next: scandal! One day: pure frustration, the next: unfettered awe. It did that for me in my years of becoming a New Yorker, the love and the hate. And yet, California never left me. Bodega owners would pause, their hand outstretched with my change, and say to me with appreciation, "You're not from here, originally, are you." It wasn't a question. They just knew.
So, what am I getting at? I supposed I'm trying to explain the unique otherness of New York. People either love it, or they hate it. For some, it's hard to find that middle ground. It took me a while to fully appreciate it, and at times, I took it for granted. Not anymore, I tell you. Not ever again.
Like a silly cliché or a junkie in need of a fix, I'll keep coming back for more because I know She will always have something for me, whatever that something is.
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