Exiting the Big Apple

I'm sitting on a bus on west 34th street waiting to leave. It's funny how different I can feel ending up in the exact same place I was at four days ago. Once excited and nervous, I am now tired with dark circles under my eyes and an almost never ending urge to nap that I can finally give into without worrying that I'm missing something. (Except that I can't sleep on transportation. And I want to write and daydream about this trip and the future.)

The city is grand as we leave, maybe more so than it was when we arrived because it already seems distant. Inaccessible. I can't walk down to the corner for a slice of greasy pizza (eaten standing up of course) or pop on the subway and cruise 5th avenue. I'm part of the mass of tourist traffic on the highway again, already, though we've only just exited the tunnel.

Some things are more beautiful up close when you can touch them or examine them. People I've loved. My best friends. When you can see the flecks of color in their eyes, the press of their bones, it just means more. New York is like that. Grander and more impressive from far away but so beautiful when you come up from the subway at Canal and sellers and rushing you and the hems of your jeans are wet with rain.

I am ready to go back to Virginia. Malinda is sleeping across the aisle from me and I'm wishing my phone would ring and the lights in the distance have started to blur together, are almost far away enough that I can convince myself I've imagined them.