I Think You’re Perfect, from New York

I think you’re perfect. I know there’s that stupid saying that no one is, but whoever said that must have never have gotten laid much. So I’ll start in Greenpoint — past the angry Bedford hipsters of Brooklyn. I’ll dive in to swim the East river to the Village. From there I’ll sprint down to Battery Park to the Wall St. Brokers through an illuminated ground zero. Then make my way back up through the streets of SoHo to the over-priced restaurants of TriBeCa. I’ll run by the wasps of the west village and pass the spoiled NYU cliques of Greenwich. I’ll fly up fifth avenue to smirk at the Murray Hill Japs, the midtown parade tourists, the millionaire mothers of the upper west side, then take a breath to stop in Central Park. Hit the unpretentious upper east side, jog through gentrified Harlem, then back down through the west side highway to see a Sun rise over the Hudson River. I’ll stroll through the cobblestone streets of a meat packing district, past the pretentious Chelsea Galleries to Hells Kitchen and back down to NoHo. Walk through Little Italy and Chinatown without a care in the world. And by the evening I’ll make it home. And all the things I want to say you that I don’t know how, I’ll put them in a silly letter that you’ll probably never read. It’ll be about how I’m still happy at this bittersweet moment in our lives, even when I don’t wake up next to you. I’ll take it as a sign that I’m crazy because being ordinary is yesterday’s news. And hopefully these words will speak a little louder to you than a recent Taylor Swift song, but they still won’t sum up it up. I’m attempting to put the pieces of life together but the puzzle right now is scattered. So let’s experience some fresh, foolish adventures together outside a bar on a beach smoking another joint laughing about old boyfriends and girlfriends. Because you’re one of the most original things in my life and to tell you how I fell for you would be so wildly, unspeakably lame. So instead, I’ll just say

that to me

you’re fucking perfect.