It's true; the city never sleeps. It whispers dreams into my ear at night, when we're alone. It teases me with its diversity, and overwhelms my senses with the neon lights first, then the stomping feet, and at last a feeling of tremendous freedom. Willingly, I am devoured by the complex machine and realize that I am both hopelessly lost and safely found at once. I wave to the group of pre-pubescent school girls giggling on the street, and glace up at the bohemians upstairs in their lofts--with both I leave a piece of me. And as I wander the broad avenues, crossing watching out for the sunflower cabs, turning into geometrical alleyways, the city smiles and speaks to me: there is a place on earth where you belong.
I don't even live there yet, but I am already sad about leaving New York for life. You say that your kids should be raised in a more friendly zone, but you've changed your mind before. This is one place where, before I die or settle, a piece of me must remain. It's that important.
