I stare in awe at a cityscape that tempts me.

Yet, in the grind and the grit,

amongst the blaring car horns and

humans moving as if their feet are on fire,

I stand suffocated by the skyscrapers impaling the sky.

For a moment I can’t breathe…

And then I do.

And it’s magical.

I fell in love with a city I barely know-

Thrilled and petrified to be in its grip each time.

It draws me in, calls my name across three thousand miles and three octaves higher

than any other.

I wander away to the Upper East side

Brownstones, black gates, clean stoops, and silent walkways,

Trees shedding green, it’s almost serene

I leave- just to round the corner once more.

I stumble upon streets that have never touched the soles of my feet

I’d two-step up and down their concrete mastery if they’d let me.

And though this city doesn’t know me

It’s found a way to own me

Entrance me as it stalls me

Ensnaring my every sense in every sense of the word.

I forgive the rush of the crowd as it drags me along

The smell of the sewage that boldly swims on

The hustle of a flow I have yet to fall into

And the urge to document every coffeeshop I’ve been to.

Forgive me. I fool no one with my iPhone Maps,

Staring at the subway grid, wishing I could rearrange the graphs

But this isn’t a city you match to your whims

Bend to your will

Float and not swim.

It’s a city that moves you.

In it, you’ll find a rhythm.

You may attempt to be unique

But really, that’s a given.

You may wish to shine

Without pause without end

Or you may wish to fall in line

Take up trends, blend on in.

As I float along the paths

Of great scattered parks

Picking on leaves

And surveying art,

I’m engulfed by the flow

Once more I’m carried along

So I turn on my heel

Try to sing my own song.

But the city has got me

Its fingers have curled

Around my small wrists.

My sail has been furled.

I love and I hate it

all at the same time.

It sweeps through my

veins like an aged glass of wine.

I stand on the edge

Of the curb like a stranger

For that’s what I am

But I welcome the danger.

The foreign walkways and driveways

And paths and the trails

This cafe

That bookshop

And all the claimed tables.

Wistfully waiting for the strangeness to pass

For the city to love me

To make each moment last

As long as I need it

And want it to be

But foreign is what I am

Foreign is who I will be.

If I were to stay,

Would the fondness grow?

Or would misery set in

For a city I do not know?

I dream a flickering canvas

Of lights and brushstrokes

Of humans breathing air they don’t own but borrow.

Dreaming of a dream like I’m tasting an eclair

Doubts piling up in the wake of a nightmare.

I want it all.

Yes all of it.

The glow and the grime.

The rush and the halt

The bold by design.

The hot, humid summers

And the ice cold winters

The gentle cool springtime

The orange fall, like in pictures.

But alas, I return to my own homeland

Sit upon the shore with my feet in the sand

Watch the waves splatter themselves along the beach

Retreating seconds later, cruelly far out of reach.

My eyes follow the bend of palm trees in the wind

Memorize the pattern of the cloud-streaked blue,

Turn back to the west

Watch the sun leave to rest

And then the night falls cold.

Relaxed, I leave for home.

The car hums quietly

My mind’s at ease with sobriety

And at the back of my brain,

I remember your name,

But it fades away

Like a long lost day

Come morning,

I’ll want you again.