the one crop our orchards can't grow

Out of all the posts that pop up on this feed--out of all the blogs I follow--two of the most recent ones, days apart, people apart, cities apart, are about New York City. One humorous, one serious; both surprisingly poetic, yet honest.

It's all making me more sure of some pull that I was sure I'd never feel in my life, some string that I'd always tug against.

I'm sitting here, in the room I spent most of my life sleeping in; in the town where nothing slipped, but just sat, where everything lies secret or completely dormant under my skin; the night after mediocre sex with a pretty attractive man, with a blatant hickey hidden by concealer, powder, and my favorite scarf, and the most exciting thing that actually happened this weekend was flirting with the cute guy at my mall retail gig and

uck.

I just want to go, already.

Not that most of the people I know who over there already would embrace me and help me. It's going to take a while to get there, and it's going to take a while to get established, or at least borderline comfortable. I've never had the chance to really acclimate my state of mind to an urban environment.

Crash course, maybe?

I'm not ready for all the pain it will cause me, no, I can never be ready for how much it actually hurts, but I've withstood some nasty shit.

Chomping at the goddamn bit.