I'm leaving you, New York. But it's not you. It's me.

New York, it's been thrilling, spicy, loose, comfortable, tasty, sweaty, scary, lugubrious, and pleasantly amusing. But I don't think this is going to work out. You're great, seriously, but, well...I've found a new lover. And I'm leaving, in fact, in 7 hours. So—

Yes, hanging out was fun.

Yes, you did satisfy my carnal and intellectual needs.

Listen, don't second-guess yourself. Don't underestimate what we had. You were great. I liked the MoMA clock you got me for my birthday, and the New Yorker iPad subscription was clutch. But your grand plans — resuscitating Borders, rejuvenating the Dow Jones — left us with no time. You know, for the small things. Like a back rub now and again. Maybe buying fresh bagels when the ones in our pantry went stale. And would it have killed you to smile while walking down the street or sitting on the subway?

Believe me, I can't believe it's happening either. I thought we'd be together forever. Our first date in Central Park, feeding each other marinated olives — I thought I'd found The One. At least until dusk, before the mosquitoes ate my legs alive. Or that time we first held hands in Brooklyn, our Momofuku Milk Bar blueberry cookies tucked in our jean pockets? That was fun — well, until the one hour, out-of-service F train detour. Oh! And who could forget that unforgettable night at Rucker Park? Ok, we did get robbed walking back, but at least we left our credit cards at home, right?

And really, it's not you. It's me. Seriously. I might quibble occasionally, but this was the best relationship I've ever had (well, other than that 4-year fling in New Haven...). We're breaking up not because I'm tired of you, but because I can't handle it. There was just too much stress. Constantly having to live up to your expectations — going out every night, staying cheerful through reruns of Jersey Shore, wearing a power tie to work — I broke down, physically and mentally.

Don't think I won't remember you. I'll always remember you. In fact, I shouldn't be saying this, but you were a reach. Your verve, tenacity, crunchiness — I just never thought you'd fall for me, too. I hope you'll remember me? And not just because of that time when I got a little too tipsy in K-Town....actually, let's not relive that moment. We had a good run, right?

Ok? Hug it out? Come here, you. Mmmmmm. So...stay in touch? I'll come visit whenever I'm in the area. And let me know how that audition goes — 2020 Olympics, right?

I'll see you lat —

What?

Do we have to talk about it? This was so nice, I don't know if we should...

It's your sister, San Francisco. Well, and your niece, Los Angeles. We were thinking of a threesome? I know you introduced them to me, but—

Alright. I'm a douchebag. Just hear me out. I—

Ouch! Ow ow owwwww. Stop! Put down the lamp. Give me a chance to explain myself. Please?

Remember how I met them at your big 4th of July party? Well, one day I started a hangout on Google+ and both of them joined and one thing led to another and we ended up talking the entire night and...well...we just connected. It's unbelievable, what we have. We're soul mates.

No, you're right. You and me were good for each other. But it also rained during the summer. Like 4 times. The summer! SF and LA, they're not like that.

Honestly, now that I've spilled so much, I might as well say it: wasn't this the honeymoon phase anyway? I mean, back in June, weren't both of us looking for a summer fling? What's going to happen to us in 4 months, when the trees are bare, the smell of subway urine intensifies, and the frost whips through the avenues? Better now than later.

Yea? You were?

Really, now?

Well, I was lying too. I never had a thing for redheads. I just said that. And I never got completely used to all that red hair...everywhere...black's better. Like SF. And LA.

:D