The City Doesn’t Love You Back

At first, the city felt like a promise.

Lights like stars I could touch. Crowds that made me feel anonymous in the best way. I could be anyone here. louder, freer, untethered. No one cared where I came from. No one whispered. No one watched. That felt like freedom. That felt like oxygen.

But cities don’t love you back.

Not really.

They lure you in with the illusion of possibility, then bury you in routine. Same crosswalks. Same overpriced coffee. Same half-smile to strangers you’ll never know. People talk about opportunity, but they forget the loneliness. No one tells you how loud the silence is when you’re surrounded by a million people who don’t know your name.

I used to romanticize this place. Thought pain would look prettier with neon lights around it. Thought if I kept walking fast enough, I’d outrun whatever followed me here. But the city doesn’t cure you. It just gives you more places to hide.

I kept staying, thinking things would shift. That I’d stumble into a version of life that made it all worth it. But slowly, the glow faded. The buildings started looking less like dreams and more like cages. The noise started feeling like static. The freedom began to feel performative, loud, but not honest.

I woke up one morning and realized the magic was gone. I didn’t want to wander anymore. I didn’t want to chase something that never let itself be caught. I didn’t need to prove anything to this place.

So, I left.

No fanfare.

Just the decision to choose peace over pace.

To choose quiet over chaos.

Some people are built for the city.

I used to think I was one of them.

But now I know

I need trees more than traffic.

I need faces I recognize.

I need to feel seen, not just tolerated.

The city doesn’t miss me.

It never would.

But I miss me

the version I lost trying to belong here.