I lay here on the floor of my bedroom spread out like I am making a snow angel with tears rolling down my red checks. I feel like I am at a crossroad where I need to choose which direction to go.
I guess I should start this story with my love affair with San Francisco. I was nine years old and I came to visit my Aunt and Uncle who live in Oakland. My Aunt had to go to work in San Francisco and had to take me with her. We drove over the Bay Bridge and as I looked out the car window I could see these big building with hope staring back at me. My heart started beating a beat I have never felt before. It was like San Francisco was pulling my heart out of my chest, but not to hurt me. My body became warm and my eyes filled with tears because for the first time I felt like I was home.
Fast forward to when I was 18 years old standing in a airport hugging my best friend Lauren. Whispering in her ear that I love her. I wanted to stand in that moment forever. My flight was boarding. I had to go. I had to let go. With one bag, I moved my life to San Francisco.
You, my dear city, have shown me life, love, happiness, sadness and struggle. You have taken me by the hand and walked me to the cliff only to let go. You have pulled, pushed, punched, and then wrapped your warmness around me. And still I stand by your side with my heart full of love for you. Then the day came where every corner, every ally, every bar, every park, every hill, every street, every pot hole, every day and every night I started to hate you. My love started to fade and I felt empty inside. You took all that I had, all that I could give and left me standing at the crossroad.
Right when I make a decision to leave you and move-- you show me your beauty again. You whisper sweet nothings into my ear and tell me I am where I belong. I am home.
San Francisco has always been my first love. I used to hate leaving her, but the feeling I got when I returned was worth every minute I was gone.
To you my city, I love you to your gritty core.