candlelights and skylines

I just realized there were no candles at my birthday this year, which means I can't do the traditional corny candles post. In a desperate attempt at a substitute metaphor, I will turn to city lights. There's just something about New York City's skyline that everyone falls in love with. Chicago. Los Angeles. None of them hold a candle (bad pun intended) to my newly adopted city.

I tried really hard not to talk New York up to myself. In some ways, I was successful. I'm realistic about its grime, its narrow spaces, and its isolation, but really, all I have done is accelerate from a crush to a love affair. Because one sees nothing and the other sees everything yet loves despite the seeing. It's like New York has taken place of the friendships that should be blossoming. It's much easier to love a city than a person.

I suppose that's what I miss from the past life. The last two years were filled with a pleasant buzz of satisfaction, grinding into the crevices, getting comfortable. Those were the candlelight years, warm, yellow, and small. Now, the lights are colder, bluer, and infinitely more powerful. The wheel has been re-invented. Granted, the beginning is always more exciting, but also more exhausting. So for one day I wished candles were back in my life again. I wished the coming revolution could fast-forward just a little bit. I wished we could skip to the next candlelight period. But then, maybe I'd be missing the bigger picture. The much bigger picture. Maybe even a whole skyline's worth.

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