With Valentine’s Day coming up, I thought I would write a few love letters. They’re no fancy Valentine cards with cartoon characters in front…but close enough. New York, music, and my cats: I choo-choo-choose you.

Dear New York City,

I’ve been in love with you so long I can’t remember how or when it all began. When I wrote my first miniature “bucket list” when I was 12, you were my only wish. When I visited you the first time, I knew we were meant to be. Turning 21 in one of your most famous hotels was a highlight of my year, and I wouldn’t have wanted to spend my first day as an “adult” anywhere else. While I simply couldn’t afford to spend the four years of my University career in your buildings and on your streets, I always knew I would find a way back to you. While the obstacles on my way to you pile up every day, I know that my love for you will conquer all. You are a bit of a gold digger, and you most definitely will cost me the majority of my bank account contents, but your bustling streets and my big dreams are worth every penny. You may chew me up and spit me back out broken and bruised, but I’m ready to weather the storm. If I walk away from you defeated, I’ll be okay, because I’ll know that I put my sweat, blood and tears into making us a match for life. Whatever will be will be, and I can’t wait to spend my time with you 24/7. Please wait for me, and never change.



Dear music,

We’ve had a tumultuous history, and I hope I didn’t hurt you when I jumped from genre to genre, unsure of what I loved. I know now that I loved every facet of you, every Motown record and pop song and underground rap jam and weird indie band. Every love affair defined a period of my life, and for that I am thankful. When I hear Marvin Gaye, I’m transported back to my 9-year-old self jamming in the backseat of my parents minivan. When I listen to The Beach Boys, my mind goes back to the first time I bought a CD. When I overhear screamo music coming out of the headphones of an intimidating teen, I laugh about the time when I was heckled at my first show for wearing pink. When that song comes on the radio on my way to work, I remember the people and parties that I forgot about long ago. Every song that I’ve listened to obsessively has left a mark on my brain so indelible that when I hear the tune again years later, my feelings of love and happiness come right back. I know that I’m not the only one that loves you, and I accept that. You’re easy to love, and you’ll always be important to me. You were there through the thick and thin, and you didn’t even turn your back when I obsessed over The Backstreet Boys. Thank you for that.

P.S. Don’t feel weird when I cry over your boy-girl harmonies, I just really like them.



Dear my cats,

I love how you don’t mock me when I call you Schnoogle woogle bear or the big PKIW (prettiest kitty in the world). I love your wiggly bellies and weird meows. I love how you love me, and show that love by purring loudly and moving your paws like you’re kneading bread. I love how you prove that lots of sleep is awesome. I love how you intimidate bugs without actually killing them. I love that you get anxious about things like blowdryers and closing doors. I love how much you love food. I love that all you need for a great night is some Animal Planet on the television and the right-hand corner of the couch. I love that you don’t talk about sports. I love so much about you, and I’m so glad that I get to live with supermodel plus-size kitties.


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