Manhattan stirs inside my mind, colored in extremes.

The brightest and crispest October day spent walking around Lincoln Center and visiting the MOMA. That day was orange. Bright orange. And so clean and clear.

Fog and gridlock, the slatest gray, along the New Jersey turnpike. A gentle uncomfortableness between us in the car. And a haunting glimpse the Statue of Liberty looming in the distance.

Sleek black nights with cocktails and conversations. The blurred lines of reds and yellows and greens against cold metallic darkness, like snapshots of motion.

People ask me if I would ever consider moving to Manhattan. To sink into the city I know fairly well, to call it home. But I know the haze that settles with familiarity, cities dampened and smudged in the process. And I want my Manhattan to sparkle and shout with these bright colors and memories of adventure.

Always.