Each year around Valentines Day, I draft a post. Then I usually delete it. Then I draft another post, in hindsight. Love is a touchy subject. And one that I tend to dance around, depending on my company. But it happens to be one of my favorite topics to write about {though almost always in private and rarely shared with the internet}.
There are so many different types of love. Last year I addressed that here. The year previous, I met {one of} my soul mates, which you can read about here.
However, one of my favorite posts about love on this blog is my Love Letter to London. After all, my relationship with London became the most important relationship in my life.
So this year, I decided to write another love letter. Well, actually, a lust letter. To the city I most recently called home: New York City.
Dear New York City,
Ya bastard.
I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that I was in trouble. I was immediately drawn to your energy, your rough edges, and your absolutely disregard for me. What a cliché. Wanting what I cant’t have. It would be years until I finally mustered up the courage to do something about it, New York.
I had recently met the love of my life: London. A city so soft, elegant, and welcoming. I immediately fell in love. It was a whirlwind romance. But like all great love affairs, it ended much too quickly. Suddenly, I was forced to walk away from my new found love.
From then on, I was in pursuit of a rebound, as we all are after losing our soul mate. And that’s when I thought of you, New York. Your grit, your confidence, your conviction. I had lusted over you for years. And if not now, then when?
I had heard about your unruly reputation before. It didn’t deter me. In fact, it prompted me to pursue you even more.
And so, I did.
I have lusted over those before you, New York. But what we had was more powerful than I had ever anticipated. Passion, pain, and everything in between. You released something inside of me that had been concealed for far too long. Your assertiveness reflected on to me, giving me the self-assurance I had been working towards all of these years.
Tell me love me New York, even if you don’t mean it.
Because I know you never will. And that’s okay. I knew the deal going into this. You never mislead me of your intentions. And now I can walk away with the satisfaction of fulfilling my own intent.
What we had was complicated, unsettling, messy. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t love. But it was perfect. I know you will welcome millions of others that desire your affection like I did. I will never be the one that got away. And you will never be my soul mate.
But I will never forget you, New York. And I am entirely indebted to you.
Thinking of you,
Rachel
If you are just dying to know where I stand personally, when it comes to the big L word, you can listen to ‘I Could Use a Love Song‘ by Maren Morris. Because songs always seem to express the things you, simply, cannot.