The smell of your dampness; the one of wet asphalt on an October night.
The look of your dreadfulness; the one of grizzled concrete in the harbor.
The sound of your madness; the one of whistling winds outside my bedroom.
The taste of your arcticness; the one of tantalizing air turning into smoke.
The feeling of your diversity; the one of segregation.
You are my first hometown.
In status quo; though your people are not.
I have seen you alive; though you are generally dead.
Epitomizing misery; though you work hard to disguise it.
Constantly aiming for glory; though you always fall short.
I miss to love you, but do not think I love to hate you. You have taught me of love and hate, how they are not antonyms, but merely the same. Rooted in the strongest of human emotions – the one of passion and obsession. Your indifference simply made me different. I left you years ago – on a quest for authenticity and joy. So let me tell you of the place where I ended up. A place that is nothing like you, but about to become you.
The smell of your sweetness; the one of pot and skunks.
The look of your Spanish constructions; the one of ahistorical exoticism.
The sound of your freeway; the one of interruption of thoughts.
The taste of your fumes; the one of premature death and overpopulation.
The feeling of your abandonment; the one of injustice.
You are my second hometown.
Supposed to be my promised land; though you are not.
Supposed to be open; though you are closed.
Supposed to have a warm heart; though your soul is dead.
Supposed to signify light; though you embody darkness.
I miss to love you, but do not think I love to hate you. You taught me what I never knew I always was. I am a nomad. Your difference simply made me indifferent.
Beyond the abyss.