New York is crying my impending departure with heavy rains.
Today was the last day at my Broadway office. I gave a bunch of fake hugs at 5.30, and a few genuine ones. I expected to click more with my co-workers – apart from a handful of cool dudes. My legendary magnetism for Americans didn’t quite work this time. Why?
Some aspects of my NYC adventures had to be challenging, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to be brutally uprooted from my natural habitat in the next days.
I’m not sad to leave though. I can feel nothing but gratitude for the blast time. As if the best lover of the world had made me climax intensely multiple times throughout the night and I was forced to leave in the morning to abide by grown-up obligations. I will feel the waves in my body long after the adrenaline was shot into my craving-for-chaos blood. New York is the best lover I’ve ever had, and I possibly love Her more than I ever loved any physical person. It sounds far fetched but it is not a figure of speech ; and it is not original either. Carrie Bradshaw said it long before me, and a bunch of girls walk around the City with a “New York is my Boyfriend” bag. If so many of us feel the relationship with the City, it is because it does exist. I never meant to be the only one.
I’m writing this getting soaked by heavenly waters at the intersection of Broadway and Chambers street with “First Love Never Die” in my ears. It is a good rain song. I am going to slalom my way between the umbrellas down Broadway till the south tip of Manhattan, and blow a kiss to foggy Lady Liberty.
Tomorrow night is my last extatic Tuesday 5 Rhythms dance class until further notice. I will look at my lover Empire State Building in the eyes and dance to the universe my burning desire to become a true New Yorker. Oh Yes! Manifest that shit!