30 years ago I walked the streets of this city.
My heart ached with a sense of familiar but unattainable love for this place of hills and art and mind-boggling mist and fog.
20 years ago I fell in love in this city. And she broke my heart 10 years later while I was on a solo trip back through.
Fast forward to now, another decade passed, and my son lives here but is leaving-now that I have explored and could finally maybe make it my home.
I remember the thick orange Persian cat in the bar on Polk. The misadventure at The Stud and panicked, waiting for a bus or cab. The boy in the Haight stopping to tell me I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen-in front of my friends. Wandering lost in North Beach with a broken heart. My first ride on the ferry with my grown son and the surprise of the vintage streetcars.
It was never my home. It was always my home. I cry out for it in my sleep.