To my one and only lover: New York.

The city wasn’t holding me back like it used to. I couldn’t even call it home anymore. I realized you feel welcome at home, and New York City was doing everything but welcoming me. I felt exhausted; trying everything I’ve already tried one more time. I felt weak; making the same witless mistakes all over again. I felt used; used by a city, by a culture, that wasn’t even my own. And once again, I cried. I cried for the same person I’ve cried for before: you. For the same reason that we discussed since day one. You were like the City. Charming on the outside but messed up on the inside. Big but in the end useless. Surrounded by a million people but so hollow at the same time. Perfect, but not for me. At that exact moment I became fully aware that it was you who was holding me back. It was the idea of you. It was the insane idea of maybe one day owning you. When I first met New York I thought she could be all mine one day. I thought that maybe she could love me as much as I loved her. That perhaps one day she would call me her own and that I would finally be able to stay there and live happily ever after. Cliché, I know. But with you it was even more cliché; at the end New York idealists always end up being hopeless romantics. You were not love at first sight. I met you and I did not love you, yet I wanted more of you each day, with each kiss, with each touch. And I’ll always want you, just like I’ll always want more of New York. However, I left, because sometimes wanting something is just not enough.

It was like when I was waiting for the F train but instead I’d get on the E train because the F train always takes too long and I’ve never been one to wait. I’d end up in Manhattan, but never exactly where I was supposed to be. I knew I wanted to be with you, that you were my destination. Even so, I’d end up with someone else, in other arms, not where I intended to be. Not with you.

And I know it’s not your fault. Like New York City, we are expected to love the ones like our own; the ones that share our ideas, our beliefs, our ways. And I know you cannot love me. Nonetheless, I like how New York never settles, never adapts, never changes. I want you to do the same, because it’s your flaws that I love and your scars that I kiss. Like I’d never change the garbage on the streets or the smells or the rats, I promise I’d never change you for anyone else. Because in the end, New York introduced me to you and you helped me realize I did not go there to meet the city. I traveled miles and miles to meet one of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever met.

As I say goodbye to the city and our memories, I say goodbye to you. To you and all the things you were brave enough to share with me, letting you know that even when you gave little, it was more than enough. At the end NYC had years to convince me to stay. And despite the fact that you met me at a no-turning-back point, you could have asked me just once and without hesitation I would have stayed.

I hope you find something as magical as a hundred New Yorks and a thousand Marias. Something that you can actually love. I hope you move far from that city that you hate so much. I hope you get away before you hurt her, like you hurt me, without even noticing. I aim to find you years from now in another city, with another woman, and not feel anything at all. I want that as much as I aspire to visit New York City, years from now, and not be jealous of every single New Yorker like I am right at this moment.

I’ll always miss you

-MC