Dear M,
I haven’t written in awhile. Fourteen days to be exact.
I guess I was just waiting for some inspiration.
……….
You were just here last week and if I haven’t told you yet, the goodbyes aren’t getting any easier…
……….
I spent this past weekend experiencing and feeling Los Angeles.
I’ve learned to love this city. Its expansiveness is sometimes overwhelming, but like someone you love, you understand that just leaves more to explore each day. You grow and change, but so does she. Your history together is a constant, but you are continually reinventing your relationship to each other.
And while the mini journeys through her strengthen this bond, through the joys of discovery and the comforts of cerebral recollection, this particular weekend, while refreshing, felt incomplete …
……….
The summer heat, finally lets up as the sun sets, leaving its footprint in the concrete to remind you of the energy it provides…
As you walk to a free show at California Plaza featuring a Nigerian from the Kuti family…
Followed by a night on the roof with a bottle of red wine and some great company…
And as you run errands… you miss your turn up Vermont boulevard just long enough to conveniently pass by LACMA and reminisce about the jazz that entranced you there the Friday before with your other half…
As you linger through an art exhibit in Filipinotown… you are proud that you know half of the artists…
As you embark on an early morning bike ride to Santa Monica… just early enough to rule Wilshire Boulevard for one hour, forgetting that road rage, loud horns and Hummers ever existed…
You are rewarded for your efforts with five dollar breakfast deals at the Omelette Parlor…
And as you cruise past Venice Walk and the basketball courts adjacent the bike path of past expeditions…
You begin to head east towards the sunrise, riding through Palms and remembering the ruggedness of moldy apartments and the trinket-laden shelves of our mid-twenties…
And venture north through Little Ethiopia, where the savory honey wines and communal plates beckon you to return with good company…
And then head east again, past the Grove and its pre-constructed façade only to pass the Beverly mom-and-pop pupuserias moments later…
To finally arrive home…
To take a mid-afternoon nap and dream about a distance sister city three hundred miles north…
Where the fog nudges you with its mist and forces you to cradle and cuddle close to another warm body…
To remind you of the inherent energy found in the person that you love…
And as you walk through a park to watch that same Nigerian Kuti play his alto…
With friends and families, sitting in the grass, you remain close to the Earth…
Where the neighborhoods have retracted to quaint sanctuaries and errands are defined as walking two blocks…
Where the art galleries remain just as prolific, thoughtful and blissfully entertaining…
And breakfast is homemade with careful tenderness…
And a walk through the park is always new…
Where the N-Judah, the BART and walking are a way of life rather than something you strive for…
And the memories of a late, relaxing crepe brunch are just as vivid and tease you to go back to bed….
Where academia, novel ideas, inspiration, and new adventurous beginnings chart the course toward the unknowns of tomorrow…
And the voracious winds of the sunset remind you that despite the seemingly increasing revitalized facades, everyone in this dream city also wears layers…
Layers that can be put on and peeled away as one pleases…
……….
Yes this sunny city is undeniably meant to be explored and enjoyed…
And so is that dream city in the distant fog…
But they are both meant to be explored and enjoyed by the soul in its entirety.
But how does a soul enjoy something in its entirety when half of it is in reality and half of it is in a dream?
……….
Love,
E
