God, how I miss the subdued glow of the History Channel sign behind our heads on that girl's Harlem rooftop. It is so fucking cold up here, without our bulky winter coats, but we've got our alcohol to keep us warm, and me and you are chain smoking off the side of the roof, screaming "I LOVE THIS CITY." this city where our faces blend with everyone else's on the F train, it's so wonderful to keep to myself. And back in Brooklyn, that loft bed saved my life when my drunken appendages collapsed all over it after too much dancing. or in tiny dorm rooms, we have to squeeze to fit and our backs remember in the morning. in that screaming city, i am so happy to stand next to my best friend, noses and lungs and stomachs full, eyes wide and laughing until it's too early to stay awake. Now in my own city, sleepy and sorry, i need her to control my head again. last night in the comfort of an abandoned stairwell, i cried my fucking eyeballs out, but she was on the other end at 3AM to knock them back into their sockets. i love her, and i love her city.
Here, this city makes me sick. The broken brick sidewalks are so silent when i drunkenly stumble home at 2AM without her or the necessity of a metro card. And in the mornings, this city welcomes you too easily into it's sweet arms, it's so kind i can't control myself. my hands are worn and bleeding from dragging this pen across paper, and my legs ache from walking as fast as i can from his apartment to mine.
I'd cut my feet open to get back to that school where we chain smoke and fall asleep at 6AM if i could.
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