I always miss New York this time of year. The bright lights gleaming off of every slick surface, the sound of cars and people rushing by, the smell of roasted nuts from a street vendor – I miss it all. Sometimes I’d visit Rockefeller Center and just stare at the giant, decorated spruce as people skated round and round on the ice below. I remember how cold my cheeks always felt, as the wind would whizz past the skyscrapers. I remember the smell of my chapstick, which always seemed to mix with my perfume and hand lotion in a combination of vanilla, chocolate, and Carmex. My hair, always down, would constantly be in my face and I’d have to turn toward the wind to blow it out, rather than risk removing my warm, gloved hands from the pockets of my peacoat. I’d seek shelter from the wind in the subway stations, which never smelled as bad as they do on a hot summer day. Sometimes crammed like sardines, but never minding the extra warmth, as long as we had layers of cotton and polyester padding between us. I remember the sheer joy and excitement the city always brought to me, just by being there. I’d take a deep, cold breath and let it fill my lungs, realizing my surroundings and just how far from home I really was, and thankful for every, single moment.
I always miss New York this time of year.