I couldn't think of a more descriptive title than the name of the city that I'm living in right now. It feels self-explanatory. The very name exudes a taste only the entire being can experience.
To my best recollection, this is quite possibly the first time I have felt it unnecessary to think of where I'll move next. Of course I've toyed with the idea, but in all honesty, it's mostly a habit; for when I truly think of leaving this place for good, I know I'm just testing myself.
Since moving to New Orleans this past September with my best friend, Isabel, I have yet to feel the spontaneity of life leave. This city, for very good reasons, captures its transients-turned-residents and often leaves them to tell the familiar story of, "...well, I came to visit and a week later I moved back."
Like many I've spoken with, I moved with the ever-consuming notion of love. Whether that same love exists now is irrelevant. I've found more individuals (okay, I'll be honest, I'm speaking of men) in this city who are so wonderful and unforgettable than I've met in throughout most of my adult life thus far. This makes it difficult to leave and even more difficult to plunge into the next encounter.
The city is intricate. The ornate architecture with its seemingly unrepeated rail designs along each balcony mirrors the individuals passing underneath them. The roads--however treacherous for bikers and stumbling pedestrians--still seem to add character and history to the city's allure. It seems to be the one place where unruly juxtapositions exist.
The completely corrupt meets the romantically inclined somewhere in this place and the uncertainty of its exact location frightens me in the least.
