You say you like the noise of New York
the energy
the hustle and bustle of so many unique people weaving in and out of streets and each other, making a tight rug of diversity and chaos.
I feel the energy too.

It is a pulse of desperation.

It is the battered wife putting on her finest jewelry in an attempt to convince herself that this is the life she asked for.
The skyscrapers,
adorned with unintelligible graffiti,
stained with a hundred years of exhaust fumes,
loom in every direction,
waiting to swallow us up.

And every bag lady
Every washed up heiress
Every starving artist
Can say with a touch of pride that they live in New York.
Walled up in their misery,
They can make themselves feel better by recognizing that they can survive here--
In this city
built on a clamor of scaffolding and
dreams gone sour in the heat.
They can bully their way through another day
Because this is New York and we all have somewhere to be.
Nobody is going to wait for you.

I want a city that sleeps.


Not to bash New York or anything; it's a really wonderful place especially for a theatre geek like me. I just wouldn't want to live there, in any city really. This is based of a conversation I had with my boyfriend after a trip to New York. He loves cities and I just...don't.