Poof

I'm alone. Not alone as in my friends are sleeping and I'm running to the store. Alone as in we split up until dinner and I get no service in the subway. Alone as in I couldn't figure out which direction to go on R and then I did and right now I have one arm wrapped around a pole while I type this.

It's strange deciding what to do on a trip without even discussing it with another person. I decided, after considering Coney Island, to see The Cloisters or The Museum of Sex. Since I'd seen The Cloisters before, I decided that The Museum of Sex would be the beginning to my afternoon. I came here from the subway but got distracted by a Hindi Parade. While I write this part, I'm watching two anime characters have sex and trying not to giggle.

Joking aside, being alone on the subway this morning made me remember how much I used to want to disappear. Just poof and smoke and I'd be gone, another face in the crowd. I liked the idea of New York then because I could get lost. No one ever had to know where I was because in a city with millions of people, I could essentially evaporate. Spent so much time imagining stepping off subways alone and melting into the crowd and I won't lie--it still felt good stepping onto 5th Avenue alone. Blending. It was like ceasing to exist.

The girl who wanted that is long gone though and maybe that's why the idea of New York as a home no longer holds the allure it once did. It's a nice place to visit but I have no intention of living here.