Going Home is the Never the Same as Being Home

I miss New York. I miss the smells; the pleasant and the not-so. I miss its sounds; the constant buzz of a crowd; the quiet rumble of the subway gaining volume as it draws nearer; the $350 honk of a Taxi cab. I miss the people in all their wonderful rudeness and indifference to whatever may happen around them. I miss the tourists gazing about in slack-jawed wonder and stealing glances at the charming weirdness surrounding them and trying desperately to fit in. I miss the feeling of belonging and like no matter how unique you are you are never too unique to find a scene. I miss the history and its weight upon you at every corner and in every building. I miss the hope and the future not-yet-fulfilled. I miss the inspiration and the knowledge that no matter where you go, no matter what you do, no matter who you become there is one thing you will always be; a New Yorker. And that is enough.