7:33 PM | 11-11-07
Being home reminds me of so much. Friendships I used to have that no longer are, seeing old faces, people, places...all have aged. Sometmes I don*t even recognize it, or them.
Being here has it*s glory, it is MY home, and MY things. In New York, nothing is ever yours. From the 400 DVF dress in the window to the hot dog on a side street. Wether you buy it or not...it is so consumed with so many other things, there is rarely any sense of belonging. Here, this is my house...my house where I grew up, I know every crack, every stain, every place. I feel like I will never be able to say New York will be my home. You never really own anything. Not even your apartment, because the building is owned by some billionaire with more power than a person can ever imagine. It*s a tough city, but it*s deeper than that. It takes time, a great deal of time to know the city and all it has to offer. It*s like any place that a person considers "home". So for now, New York is like a hotel...one big ginormous hotel to me. And home...Hancock Michigan...will always be my home, and a familiar place, with familiar yet different faces that I have come to know for so long.