querida nuyorica

dear new york,

it is a relief to admit that we need a break, you and me. i used to be really into you, and i still think you're wonderful in so many ways. but you're not right for me, and i don't fit in well with your friends. it's cool--it's just who we both are, for now.

i think i assumed you would be the same now as you were at a younger age. e.b. white's essay about you is really something--i hope you go back and read that, now and then, as well as damon runyan's short stories. and some night, when you don't feel like going out, watch on the town again.

i would have liked to know you then. you know what the truth is? i came here because i wanted to reflect you at that age: exuberant, energetic, idealistic, above all democratic--holding hands with the rich on one side and the poor on the other. amenable to a spontaneous burst of song and dance on a train or a crowded street.

if you were ever that way, you've changed. sorry, but you seem kind of over it, in every respect--you seek amusement, or diversion, not fun. you are always tired and your entertainment is anything but leisure; when you go out, it's either explicitly work-related, or else it's "a good opportunity to meet people." your ideals and mine have nothing in common anymore, that i can see.

as far as democracy's concerned, somebody needs to let you know--you are not democratic, sweetheart. you're as elitist as i've ever encountered.

everything here, in order to grow, has to stand still and grow upward, fast, if it wants to see anything.

i'm going west for a little while; i can't wait to see all the way to the horizon. i can't wait to have a great big continent under my feet. i can't wait to feel the sky over me like a bowl, like a blanket.

you were a good experience, but you were never a very good friend.