On the morning of August 28th, 2014, at 9:45 in the morning I was sitting in a window seat on flight AC7738, and in the distance, perched atop the low-lying clouds, like a flawlessly crafted piece of art, sat the Manhattan skyline.  I couldn’t help but notice how small, and insignificant it looked from so far away.  But I already knew from my time previously spent there; it was anything but that.  And it was for that very reason I was on that plane, that morning, anxiously awaiting touchdown and my first breath of New York City air.  New York City is the love of my life, and as we approached – its vastness beginning to reveal itself – I sat hopeful, that somehow on the streets far below, she would be able to fix me.  I was in desperate need of healing, and it was her I chose to help me. So, when I exited the airport shuttle in front of my hotel, I closed my eyes, inhaled the Manhattan air into my lungs and surrendered my broken self to the city…my love.

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