In a week and some-odd days I will be back here.
Back where the balmy air forever smells of asphalt, exhaust, street food, and sweet promise.
The only place powerful enough to evoke an emotional reaction out of me upon landing.
The place where I am so small and minuscule, yet a part of some strange, fleeting movement bigger and more vibrant than anything fathomable.
I could fall in love here.
Not with a person -- no, not necessarily -- but with the entire, buzzing atmosphere of none other than New York City.
I want to build my future here.
To live within my means in a modest and cozy studio apartment, paying my way through each day with the next writing job that graces my desk.
Surrounded by books, the swarthy aroma of coffee, and solace.
But, really -- I could fall in love here.
I could meet you, you, 'The One,' in a library, a bookstore, a coffee shop, a sidewalk,
In a completely accidental-yet-impeccably-perfect manner.
And I will forever be changed.
For now, I will toss and turn but refuse to drown in a sea of unrelenting and undulating frustration.
I am pleased, yes. I am exuberant, yes. But I am not fulfilled.
The expected weekly grind -- walking through a campus and sitting through classes full of mere silhouettes of individuals.
Each one wearing a mask of hopeful anonymity to the outsiders, to each other.
The hazy, amaretto nights that weigh heavily on the trunk of my mind and the conscience,
The self-fulfilling pleasures that we are 'supposed' to experience, or better yet, endure.
The endless evenings spent over, under, in between covers, shrouded in mutual secrecy.
The greetings-turned-'just friends'-turned-curiosities-turned-something foreign, passionate, and fateful that forever leaves an imprint on the heart.
These things, all of these things, will flutter away with time,
The distance softening their sting, their mental potency.
Until then, I will run without abandon to the gates of this resplendent city, breathless and exhausted,
Yet rejoicing in the light of my destiny.