When I think of New York I think of her. The friend who becomes family, the family who becomes friends. I think of being young and cold and really young. Of doing the stupid things you do when you're a teenager. Of sitting together on her fire-escape and dreaming big, wholesome, happy dreams while snow fell around us. Of eating Van Leeuwen ice cream by the barrel-load. Of catching the F train everywhere. Of no worries. Of tuna melts and pizza slices. Of getting lost, and she a local! Of laughing in drugstore aisles and wholefoods and her hallway and the corner of court and pacific. Of sweating the small stuff. Of apricot jam and camembert. Of reading lying on the floor, propped up on elbows. Of being so very, very young. Of feeling like it was all our playground, like it belonged to us, no, of knowing that it did. I wonder if we achieve our plan of living together in New York after university/college is over whether it will feel the same. I wonder whether you can really truly love a city like you do when you see it for the first time through the eyes of your best friend.
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