coming back to new york after even a few days away feels to me like slipping into a satin bathrobe, even when it is muggy, even when it is dark before three, even when it is hard. for better or worse, i think i have really found the place in the world that feels the most like home to me, in that i don’t notice it anymore. back in the desert, everything was bolder and clearer and cleaner, the stars were out and i could count them, perfect vintage sundresses were $15 and cheaper, and the pantry was stocked and brimming. but everything felt heightened, electric, and jarring, except my long drives by myself to nowhere in particular.
maybe the minute you realize you’ve become that thing they say you are, a “city girl”, a product of the urbane, is when this place feels blunted and soft to the touch. when it bruises and pits like tired fruit. when nothing really shocks or bumps you side to side. when new york is just another place, but also the most unusual place to feel simply normal.
does that make sense to anyone else?
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