Overs

But how can you be leaving? You are New York. You love this place more than anyone I know. We stood in line for coffee at one of the delis at NYU. The summer sun was bright; we made our way quickly to Washington Square Park to catch up. Apparently, my announcement came with some surprise.

We sat in the sun and watched the streams of people pass us by. She spun tales of the drama since last we met; it had been a while, there was so much to say. When I got home in the afternoon, my cheeks had a new flush to them.

Last night, as I sat on the rooftop of the pasta factory in Brooklyn, looking out over that glittering skyline, they both said Do you mean to say that you are leaving this?

But I'm not. Not really. Home is where the heart is.

And I heart New York.