Friday, July 27, 2018

An Empire State of love

Dear future hubster, 
have you ever thought that some love stories with some lovers are very much like a city, a very particular scenery?
Like a Vienna lover is reserved, quietly majestic and definitely not ever in a rush; a Paris love is so Truly Madly Deeply but also somewhat arrogant and too charming to be taken seriously; Berlin is very hip, probably unshaved, has a few radical views and some residual teenage angst. 
And a New York love? Very much like the city itself - not as much in that he doesn't sleep, but that he makes you want to be top of the heap. 
And in so many other ways. Overwhelming and addictive. Sudden and unexpected at first, but cozy and comforting as you rush through the noise and find a sweet, undisturbed corner. Exciting, with something shiny and new every day, and intimidating, as nothing ever is looked at for a second time. Makes you feel glow; makes you feel replaceable. Makes you believe while remaining completely unbelievable. You feel like you're in a movie, any movie, showing the Brooklyn Bridge during opening credits, like it's everybody's everyday love story, except it yours and it's anything but ordinary. That's why it's so unreal. 
A New York love, dear future hubster, is just like the city itself. It showers you with all the glitter and spark, until you're exhausted but you think you've glimpsed the idea. Then it throws some more of everything at you, until you're dizzy but you think you're starting to understand. Then the glass doors slam on you. A New York love, just like the city itself, doesn't let you in easily. Maybe one day; maybe never. It's friendly and approachable and almost vulnerably open, letting a snowstorm swipe through its street on an April Tuesday; then when you're off guard, it closes on you. You're stuck outside and feel helpless, as if no subway, tram, or ferry could get you any closer. You just stand there watching the skyline disappear in the clouds. 
And then when you think you're ready to pack and go, the wind turns, the sun is back, the skyline shines back at you, the magic and the marvels are all around. You wonder why you ever wondered, when all is full of wonder. 
Beware, dear future hubster. The city may have decided to give itself to you. Or maybe it have not. It may just be having a confident day, believing in itself, believing in you, believing in the two of you. It may change with the wind tomorrow. 
It's up to you to spend your time, your efforts, your love, trying to make it there. Or, one day, take a deep breath, wipe off those tears, and make a brand new start of it. 

Thursday, July 19, 2018

To tell you that I landed somewhere

Dear future hubster,
there will be times when I will want you to call me, no matter how late or early it is, no matter how many time zones or blocks away we are. I will want you to call even though we will both know that I have absolutely nothing of importance to say, that all I will be able to convey is a couple of baaaaaaaahs and other inarticulate grunts, and then move on to descriptions of my inner feelings: that is, my tummy being shaky and my head cloudy. 
You are allowed to laugh at me, and to treat me like a whiny little puppy, which I am, because the important thing is that you called, to say without saying that you care. 

Thursday, July 5, 2018

I would be a world champion, clearly

Dear future hubster,
I think dragging suitcases through countries should be a legit workout. Potentially an established sport.