It's As If When You Love Someone,

I Want To Take Back At Least Half Of The “i Love You”s, Because I Didn’t Mean Them As Much As The Other Ones.

New Yorkers Love The Bigness -- The Skyscrapers, The Freedom, The Lights. But They Also Love It When They Can Carve Out Some Smallness For Themselves. When The Guy At The Corner Store Knows Which Newspaper You Want. When The Barista Has Your Order Ready Before You Open Your Mouth. When You Start To Recognize The People In Your Orbit, And You Know That, Say, If You're Waiting For The Subway At Eight Fifteen On The Dot, Odds Are The Redhead With The Red Umbrella Is Going To Be There Too.

You Existed. You Existed Now As A Fractal. Definition: A Fractal Is Generally A Rough Or Fragmented Geometric Shape That Can Be Broken Into Parts, Each Of Which Is (at Least Approximately) A Reduced-size Copy Of The Whole. Maybe I Was A Fractal. Maybe The Photographer Was A Fractal. Maybe We Were All Fractals.

Underneath All That Denial, You're Someone Who's Deeply, Deeply Nice.

Love Weaves Itself From Hundreds Of Threads.