On Missing Dear Friends

This morning, John Carroll said:
I mean, come on, it’s New York. It’s the city that never sleeps because people are up all night thinking and fantasizing and making plans. I know where my home is, but I also know where New York is. Being there was like spending time with an old friend.
I know how he feels. I have not traveled the globe nearly as much as I would have liked by this point in my life, but I have made a few dear friends that I do not get to see nearly often enough. I miss my dear friend New York City very much; my heartache over letting many years pass between visits will perhaps be lessened if the 2nd Avenue Deli is in fact reborn by the time I get back there. I miss my more remote friend Amsterdam terribly and despair at the idea that I cannot, from this vantage point, foresee another trip across the pond.

And most of all, there’s a yearning at the very center of my soul—a primal need, really—to get back to Black Rock City. A harder friend to visit than the others, this one requires weeks of preparation and will spend only one particular week with you each year. But as far as cities go, there is perhaps no greater friend to be found on this planet. I will see my dear, dear friend in fifty days’ time. The very thought, if I linger on it for too long, brings unspeakably joyous tears to my eyes.