I’m getting closer to the end of a love story with a city that taught me everything good that I know now. A city that taught me how to be a grown up. How to get my heart broken. How to love myself. How to be comfortable in the skin that I am in. How to stay up late and watch the sun rise over the greatest lake in the world. A city that had a cold heart at first, but in spurts taught me about beauty and love and friendship. A city that walked me home safe on whiskey soaked nights. A city that bought me shots after I peeled myself up off my apartment floor from crying over a boy who didn’t know how to love a drunk like me. A city that taught me that shots make everything worse. And that nothing good happens after midnight. A city that taught me that bicycles are the best ways to get over broken hearts, lost jobs, and the fear of change. And when bicycles won’t work, milkshakes often do.
Some need to run away to find God. Some need mountains, ocean, or desert. Some need the anonymity of travel, or the comfort of small towns. Others need a city to feel at home and a balcony apartment that they can call their own.
I will miss this place.
The noisy street I live on, the summertime drunks, the wintertime blues, the colors of fall leaves, the electricity of spring, and the rooms in which I have found a way to live and love.