Moving out of New York City
<p>1 Year ago I shipped two boxes, two tightly packed suitcases, with one carry-on, and a backpack far too heavy for me to tolerate long-distance travel. My hoodie soaking the streams of sweat on my back underneath the overweight luggage my sister and I dragged 10 blocks through Times Square, back and forth across two Penn Stations, and two trains just for me to quite literally be running to make my flight back home to Los Angeles.</p>
<p><img alt="" src="https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:700/1*ywhzBzvKKdvXab01aS0puQ.jpeg" style="height:465px; width:700px" /></p>
<p>The park outside my window</p>
<p>I wasn’t fully prepared for the tears that would fall when my sister got as far as she could and let out a pause before her eyes welled up and I in response fought to level my breath so as not to cry at the sight of her sadness. But it was too late.</p>
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