The New York Memory

I feel in love with the city that never sleeps. It is the only place I have visited that feels like a living organism. The place throbs and pulsates with life and lights and tarmac and greenery. The beauty of Manhattan Island is almost scientific. This is my briefest of love notes to a city that I miss.

When approaching the city after being spat out of the Queens-Midtown tunnel the land/skyscape was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. The sky was pink felt and the buildings looked as if they had been painted on top of it. As we dove onto East 34th street we were swallowed by the open wounds of streets and avenues. As we drove through, an enormous sense of déjà vu swamped me, though I had never set foot in the place.

I was dropped off on the corner of 55th and 8th. My new home in the heart of the Theatre District. I was here for only a short while and spent my time being teased by Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village; East Village and the Lower East Side where I was witness to one of the longest chess games in history. I wanted to leave my mark on everyplace I had been. I wanted to kiss each paving stone and steal each street sign. I wanted to be the city. I was green and the city was multi-coloured. The skyscrapers didn’t touch the sky because on Sunday the sky lowered itself down so it could touch the buildings just to remind itself of what it was missing.

Though I had to leave I promised myself that I will copy the sky and make sure that I too will lower myself back down to remind myself of what I will constantly be missing.