I'm homesick.
I'm sick.
I'm homesick for the sticky bodies pressing up against me in the subway--the bad breath getting in my face and the body odor conquering the space of the train.  I'm homesick for walking up and down thirty different flights of stairs a day.  I'm homesick for never hearing silence, never for a second being alone, and yet always being alone.  Always being at peace.
I'm homesick for young couples grasping onto each other for dear life, spread out on a blanket in Central Park gazing at the sky together and dreaming.  I'm homesick for hole-in-the-wall restaurants with immigrant waiters and their confusing accents bringing you heaping plates of food.  I'm homesick for coffee shops with thoughtful boys on laptops, for mom-and-pop stores with that joint cream you'll never find anywhere else, for dirty pavement littered with expired Metro Cards, for thunder and lightning in the middle of July.
I'm sick of the suburbs.  I'm sick of barbecues and football games.  I'm sick of minivans and soccer teams.  I'm sick of traffic lights.  I'm sick of chain restaurants, department stores, sprinkler systems, parking spots.
Maybe some people can live like this, and that's fan-fucking-tastic, but I sure can't.  I don't want a dog and a mortgage and a Costco membership and a "Home Sweet Home" doormat.  I don't want a husband and a little boy and girl and an office job and a carpool.  I don't want a gardener, an elementary school in a good area, a parent-teacher conference, a Crockpot schedule.
I want homeless men to scream at me on the subway platform, begging for my spare change.  I want to have to transfer to three different trains because there's construction and everything's been rerouted.  I want to scowl at tourists and flirt with the guards at Tiffany's and eat dinner with a plastic fork.  I want to get caught in the rain on my way home with no umbrella and ten blocks to go.  I want to smell garbage rotting on the side of the street and get hot air from the sewers blown between my legs.  I want madness, insanity, 24/7 what the hell is going to happen next where even am I what am I doing with my life I love this I love everything NEW YORK!  I want to go home.
I'm sick, and I'm homesick.

Written by a girl who used to look at this exact photo and think, How the hell am I ever going to get there?


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