Dearest New York.

Dearest New York,

You "Concrete Jungle, you're what dreams are made of."  Why is it, then, I feel you failed me?  Your lights inspire?  No.  Not me.  I think it's just that...maybe...we grew...apart?  I'm too old for your parties.  I became your biggest party-pooper.  Honestly, though, maybe you just tired me out!  Your cold, gray winters hurt my feet and chill me to the bone.  Your train traffic delays have frustrated, caused me tardiness and embarrassed me.  Panic attacks in your subways...I can have no more.  Your pretty girls and high fashion make me feel insecure and inadequate.  All dressed in black.  It's a sea of people...I'm no better than the rest of your lovers.  I blend in too much.  You don't make me feel special.  Maybe a little pond would be a better fit?  I could be its big fish.  I've started dreaming of green yards, maybe even a little white picket?  More space?  Big trees?  Fresh air?  2 little ones and a puppy?
...
I know one thing for sure; I forgot what you were made of.  You do cook the most appetizing meals.  You can satisfy my every whim.  You make me smile.  And even laugh.  Your Central Park hills make me sweat.  Sometimes you make me cry.  Your mystique abounds.  I'm intrigued.  You challenge me.  You teach me.  I love you.  I hate you.  Love.  Hate.  Love.  Hate!
...
Everyone deserves a second chance.  New York, here's yours.

Love, km.