always coming back home to you

by Rachel Lynch in ,


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He held the register open while he counted her change. Running through the aisles of the Duane Reade. Knocking over candy and chips. Swear to God, wild nights here were my genesis. I stepped out into Union Square and thought; I got drunk, I made love, I got beat up in the spot. I've roamed this city through heat and three feet of snow. Some night the roads become empty and the people disappear. You can think for a second. You can feel an exceptional level of gratitude. Yet with all the thankfulness in my heart, I know I will never grasp it. My love for this city is too vast, and she is too confusing a lover, although her streets remain the same day after day. And sometimes New York is dope, for not what you have here, but what you don't. You work hard for nothing, but I don't think it's exactly nothing. You're getting something, it's just not tangible. We understand what it means to work for something you can't hold here. And we're okay with that. So I walk home with the sun on my back. It's the only culture I've got, bodegas and brick walls. These alleyways and streets have seen my best days. Enter subway, 6 train left. Dear New York, I'm always coming back home to you.

custom dungarees by Waitse

boots by Demoina 

sunglasses by Wildfox

photos by  Lauren Engel