I knew we were destined to be happy in New York City when we sat on the A train our first Saturday morning, hand-in-hand and side-by-side. We looked at each other and smiled, before looking off in the same direction.
I loved tunneling towards the future in our own meager Tardis, cut off from the wi-fi of the world and collectively suspended in time and space. It took about and hour to get from Washington Heights to Williamsburg, but we got there.
Then we walked out into the light to troll the hipster food stops of Smorgasburg, and strolled around the tip of Central Park, without any deadlines and with a modest agenda: to thoroughly enjoy and soak in the universality of it all.
And I fell in love with the experience, and I fell more in love with living, and I fell into happiness. And when I looked at my soulmate, I knew that he did so. And so it seems that everything is in its right place.