You draw the blinds, silence the phone, and curl up in the tightest, smallest ball your aching muscles will allow.
Yet, people continue to flock to Manhattan in droves, overflowing the sidewalks, overcrowding the subways, and settling for subpar standards of living just to call themselves New Yorkers.
So I punished you. I started fights with no purpose, cheated with no regret, and nitpicked until you hated to be around me. In turn, you lashed out or cried or panicked. And I took it. And you took it. And deep inside, we both hurt.
To be loved. By friends, family, men and women. To never be alone on a Friday night. You’ll host book club meetings in your apartment and show off your overflowing bookcase. You’ll do yoga on Tuesdays.