My first visit to New York City was when I was in college. With how close I live to New York, this should never, ever have been. But somehow the Ellis Island trip passed my class by during our elementary years, and when a day in NYC became a high school class trip, I was at a point where I wanted nothing to do with my high school class.*
*Sorry, guys.
I’ve loved New York since the minute I was pushed forward from the train station by hurried business people towards the beeping of taxi horns and buildings so tall my eyes lifted higher and higher until the back of my head was parallel with the ground. It has always been an inexplicable kind of love. One that is more than bright lights and endless shopping. I am never lacking for emotion nor comfort in this city as I return time and time again to explore a never ending “To Visit” list.
As I looked over my pictures from my recent trip, I found within them a story. One that only New York could tell.
A story of bravery…
that embraces colorful differences.
A story of perseverance that reaches for the stars…
and craves exploration.
A story of hope…
no matter how distant it may seem.
A story of sacrifice…
and freedom.
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