When she heard I moved to New York, my grandmother called me and said, “there is no better feeling than to be in love in the city.”
And I suppose I believe her.
I think about how I used to wish to be where I am now. How I used to fall asleep hoping that we’d somehow end up in the same city again. Hope that we’d somehow be in love.
There is discomfort with growth—you reassure me that this is normal. That I will find my feet. That I do not need to hold my breath.
I believe we will be here as long as we will be. Until something new happens, or changes, or pulls us away. This city is not our forever.
I am in love with you here. I hope to love you just as fiercely everywhere else we go too.