1: me, 2-4: Nidhi
The last time I was in New York my flight was the last plane that arrived at JFK before they shut the airport for three days. The city was being ravaged by a blistering, bone-chilling blizzard that meant that The Row's samples never made it in time for their show and that Marc Jacobs had to move their alotted catwalk slot to later in the week. In other, non fashion related news, the city was covered in a blanket of white and the subway shut down and people closed their doors to the cold. As I arrived at my friend's house blanketed and wrapped up and red-nosed, I remember looking around me at her street, her beautiful brooklyn street, and seeing the snow fall and the quiet of the white and the softness, the real softness of the air and I remember falling silent. I put my suitcase down and I sat on it for a moment and looked around. It was 5 in the morning and yes, all streets are quiet and still at 5 in the morning, but this was a beautiful, haunting, ethereal stillness. It was a stillness that I felt could last forever, even when the snow melted and turned to slush, even when the subways started again and the shops opened and the restaurants turned on their lights I felt the stillness all around me. Even in the city that never sleeps, I felt still.
I can't wait to be back. I'm off today. I will update as much as I can, and promise to take loads of pictures for when I come back. Thank you so much to all my new followers and all my faithful readers - I swear to have many new stories when I come back. Check my twitter and instagram (@hannahroserose) for more regular updates. And until then, here's some Frank O'Hara, who is one of those perfect American poets that says exactly what he means and means exactly what he says.
New York, I love you.
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