The Things I Miss

I miss the consistent rumble of mass transportation above and below ground and I miss the convenience of its services. I miss my no-bullshit Brooklyn born amici with their fuhgeddaboudit “accents” and their endless stories of growing up in the Bedstuy neighborhood or the roughest blocks of Bushwick. I miss the beauty that is upstate New York and the thrill of exploring an avenue less travelled. I miss walking in the shade of a perfectly architected skyscraper or strolling down the historic fruit streets in the sought after neighborhood that is Brooklyn Heights. I miss the reflection of lower Manhattan in the East River’s waters as seen from bustling Brooklyn Bridge Park.

I miss the option of boarding a ferry to travel to the movie theater from one borough to another and I miss getting ice cream from Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory in the summertime. I miss leisurely walks across the Brooklyn Bridge and the ever-changing view of the skyline in every direction as one meanders from one borough to the next. I miss the wondrous culture of park-sunbathing, book-toting intellectualists mixed with non-English speaking, camera wielding, wide-eyed first time tourists commingling on the same melting pot of an upper west side block.

I miss after work shenanigans with my fellow fashion design major, former college roommate and Dominican beauty of a best friend and I miss our go-to hot spots – Culture Espresso for java and Havana NY for their happy hour tapas and adult beverage specials. I miss weekend brunching rituals in Brooklyn’s stunningly eclectic Park Slope neighborhood and viewing the nightly sunset and natural expanse of Prospect Park from my bedroom window. I miss outings with some lovely ladies I proudly call friends who share similar, significant losses and I miss the support that these brief but substantial occasions provided.

I miss the annoying, boom box carrying, talented, dancing kids on the Q train and I miss the intoxicating aroma of churros in the Union Square subway en route to hipster-ridden Williamsburg. I miss the plethora of gypsy cabs heckling me to utilize their services in lieu of a regular yellow cab and I miss daily breakfast treks to Panera Bread on Fifth Avenue with my favorite coworkers. I miss the spring breeze, early summer evenings, the colorful fall season and the heavily apparent festive Holiday spirit that is early winter in New York. I miss the meditative experience that is people watching on the train and sitting in Madison Square Park.

Madison Square Park photo taken by me on 3/11/2011
Madison Square Park photo taken by me on 3/11/2011

I miss endless access to towering rooftops with bucket-list-worthy views of Manhattan’s skyline. I miss fish tacos from Pinche’s and I miss boxes of biscotti from Little Italy’s Ferrara’s. I miss faster than usual walkers and I miss bypassing and complaining about the unusually slow walkers that “must be tourists!” I miss lunch hour pizza from “that place on 34th between 5th and 6th Avenues” and I miss suggesting to my coworkers that we go to “Fork and Spoon,” though purposely calling it “Fuck and Spoon” due to its outrageous prices.

I could continue my endless list of “The Things I Miss” about the city that never sleeps but it would only continue to demonstrate that none of the above could be recalled or “missed” without the acknowledgement of David. None of the above occurred or was made memorable without David as a part of the occasion whether directly or indirectly. If I was enjoying happy hour tapas with my best girlfriend after work and David didn’t happen to be working that night then I called him to let him know I would be home later.

My time living in New York was inevitably associated with David and as much as I miss the city, all of the above memories and then some are attached to him in some way shape or form. I know that I must confront this bittersweet reality personally and on location in order to fully heal and I intend to do so sooner than later, though I understand that this cannot be accomplished without a deep, cavernous hole in my weeping heart. In due time, I trust new memories will be created in the magnificent city that mysteriously pulled at my soul from the age of four.


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