In New York we’re always dating. Talking to somebody. Hanging out with somebody. The idea that we’re just floating is embraced and accepted here. Not celebrated by everyone, but celebrated indeed.
I’ve wondered, in the midst of it, if the right person walked in and sat down right in front of me. If she took me out for a meal. And entertained me with blissful conversation. If she reminded me of hope, excitement, adventure and childish love, would I recognize her? Or would I be blind to that. Maybe blinded by dating.