there is a part of me that can't get enough of boston. a part of me utterly taken by the ubiquitous red brick and dark shudders. the cobblestone streets. window box after window overrun by flowers in bloom. it is lush and small. quiet and complex.
my brother's not so keen on the city. he's a southern boy to the core and finds it difficult to meet people, finds the girls not terribly attractive (i think it's less about the girls and more about the proliferation of parkas and subsequent lack of pearls and sundresses). but i'm hoping he sticks around there a bit longer so i'll have many more chances to visit.
after bringing the babysitting phase of my life to a close, enduring a sixteen-day-never-ending-cold, and then three weekends of (1) a mother in ny (2) a bus to connecticut to be with my grandfather and aunt and (3) a short stint in boston i'm breathing a bit easier tonight just glad to be home. glad that for now new york is home. glad to go to the grocer and get my cut of cheese and bouquet of flowers. glad to walk down the hill toward the hudson. glad to feel as though i'm a little more in my skin here than ever before. a little more in a place where anything is possible. even if it's still hard. still terrifying. still deeply upsetting at moments. because more and more it's feeling deeply worthwhile.