Mémoire de San Francisco

Everything that begins inevitably must come to an end. And in the most cliché way, that couldn’t be further than the truth. I have only a few days left in San Francisco and I couldn’t be farther from happy to leave. This city excites me in the most particular way. The people speak their own artistic language that breathes life into this city. Every street I walk up and down encompasses a unique path that breeds creativity. This city inspires me in the most astounding way. It’s as if being here has given way to my creativity, my words, my writing and my outlook. Each time I step out of the door, I embark on a new journey discovering a new place for breakfast, a great Chinese restaurant and a new street artist, painting his skills across the corner. And if I had my way, I would stay and record the people passing by and write my experience through their eyes and minds. I’ve been exposed to more than I could have ever hoped for and more than I could actually process and taken in. I wish I had more time to experience it all and submerge myself into you, San Francisco. It’s so easy to lose track of time and your days but not here. Here, I’ve enjoyed every last one of them. I’ve enjoyed the spontaneous moments, the Giants game, and the sports bars, Delores Park, Pier 39, Chinatown and Little Italy. My Columbus Ave. has brought you all to me, within walking distance in which I endlessly have explored. It’s the beauty of the city that attracts me and draws me and since I’ve been here, I’ve felt one and the same with this city. We both crave the arts, scream for individuality and yearn for culture. We want the love of design, nature, the water, the music and the free spirit. We want it all. And she has it all. And if I have ever fallen in love, it would be with the sunset that spreads across Alcatraz as it glimmers it’s gold, orange and pink hues; it would be the view from atop the Twin Peaks, caressing the winding road back down to civilization; it would be with the Saturday afternoon laughter and music from my window all the way to the wharf; it would be when the wind blows, and I have to squint my eyes and I pretend I’m dancing between the breeze. She’s beautiful, she’s alive, she’s humble, she’s busy, she’s small, she’s comfortable, she’s coastal, she’s unique. She’s home. Away from home. She has her own soul, that carries the stories, both told and untold, of all of her pieces and parts that puzzle together a masterpiece that’s messy, eclectic, hearty and bright. And maybe one month of San Francisco isn’t enough too fall in love, or maybe too much but one thing’s for sure: this place is magical, in the most obscure way.

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