Good Evening, New York City.
I've decided to start my venture into conscious reality by sending my thoughts into the endless void of cyberspace. From now on it will be you and me. The unidentifiable, intangible "you" without bounds, and me, the twenty year old almost college graduate with big hopes and definable limits.
Yes, that's who I am, a girl living in a fourth floor walk-up apartment on the Lower East Side of Manhattan with a colorful Matisse dancing on my walls and a dramatic firescape clinging to my window. If I close my eyes and dim the lights to just above rosy, I can travel back in time and taste the evening seeping from behind speak easy doors. I can pretend that bobs are in style, and that I smoke long cigarettes, and that the latest craze is something classier than hiphop and ripped jeans. I can play Daisy, but smarter, and yearn for Gatsby, but deeper, and know that all the books on my shelves have been read twice.
But even without pretense and illusion, you never fail me, New York. Your streets are the same, and your parks are the same. Your trees whisper to me as I pour over papers in Washington Square Park, and you let me love you just like Henry James and Bob Dylan loved you.
And, in turn, you teach me about humanity.
So good evening, New York. I extend my hand to you in friendship. I open myself to your possibilities.
