The Sweetness

I crossed through the Chelsea streets and felt the air change; suddenly I was in the projects, and then just as quickly I was in posh Meatpacking District hoods again. This city, always changing. The dirty, dilapidated old New York next to spotless 15 foot floor-to-ceiling windows, city housing projects next to the most expensive square footage on the island. The sun shines on all of it, the exhaust fumes land without discrimination.

I am sorry to always bring the City into this. I did not mean for this to be a New York City blog (although, to be fair, I didn't mean for it to be any sort of blog; there was little thought at the onset), but it can't be helped. Something about the city makes so much sense to me, it connects with something within me and I feel at home. Like the city, I have my dirty, my dark, my seedy underbelly and inescapable despair. Like the city, I have my proper, my skirt suit and glittering high heels, my Times Square bright smile and my naive hopefulness and zest for life.

I suppose that's the thing about the city. It fits all, and it is not, without its parts. It is the first place where I feel like all the bits of me, have a place. Where I can be made up of all those facets and still be one person. I look at my bright shiny city, and I think it is beautiful. I look at my beat, worn down city, and I love it just the same. I can't stop writing about it, because it is teaching me about myself.

Give me your tired,
your poor,
Your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free

and I can't help, but do it.