I haven't lived there long or might not be home a lot, but it's my city. San Francisco has seen all of me and yet I barely know our city of St. Francis of Assisi. She's seen my blood that I've shed from scrapes and cuts she's given me while I explored her pavement and steel. She's seen the sweat I've perspired climbing her hills and winding alleyways. She's seen my eyes and how I've looked at her lovingly, through the lens of my camera. She's seen me act a fool and break my heart. And she's seen me seek solace on her empty streets late late at night, taking comfort in the protective canopy she's made for me built from her stretching skyline of tall buildings and lights.
She's felt the soles of my shoes, worn on her never-ending network of sidewalks.
She's heard me laugh. She's heard me sing, quietly, under my breath, from pulsating earphones, songs pouring into my ears, creating my own personal soundtrack for her.
She knows of my taste for crab fried rice, caramelized bananas with coconut ice cream and buffalo burgers with pineapples.
She knows me so intimately, she's seen me when I brave the cold and the wind, just to stand still for hours taking her photo.
And yet I feel like I still barely know her at all. All I know is that she's good to me. She may not be Tokyo, or Hong Kong, or London, or Paris, or New York, or LA, but I can't imagine mySELF, losing MYself anywhere else. When I come home, I think I'll take that much needed time I've been planning to take to get to know her a little bit better.
Sorry for the babble, just an FYI.
