the city that never sleeps
i miss the grassy knolls of central park, where we walked in circles and got lost and laid in the grass and doodled in our sketchbooks mindlessly. it isn’t the envy of the american life, it is the craving of freedom in a place that is not our own.
it seemed so perfect, romanticised by the picture-perfect setting of which we wax lyrical. the childishness of escapism, perhaps, but it served its purpose well. and i was mesmerised.
so for the months to come, i’ll just fantasise about the day when i can finally taste that freedom again. (and when i do, i’ll take comfort in its novelty for as long as it lasts, before i am bored of it and lapsed into the state of nonchalance with which i am so acquainted. it’s a vicious cycle.)
also, at central park, i saw the most dogs i’d ever seen in one day. so cute, yet so creepy.