The Ones Who Fall For Cities

A few years ago, I was moved far enough to attempt my first true love poem. It went like this:

It’s the city of bridges, Big Ben and the Eye
Parliament, Victoria, Kensington High Street
Out of my league, but somehow I got a ticket
It was love at touch down
smitten and disarmed by old London town.

Portobello is the first kiss
seen by silver antiques on a narrow street
long enough to fill the day.
And Hyde Park in the fall, I get to know from every bench
every stretch, way, path and gate.
And I’m falling like the leaves are, slow and savoring my fate.

Then I’m there, at the bank
I meet your river and I’m gone, cross the bridge
to its heart and I look down
Confess my love and beg return, but the waters surge on,
indifferent to all suitors.

And that’s it, I don’t need to leave this island
take the sky to other cities,
‘cause I’ve been hit.
And when I leave three months later it’s a forced quit,
a "til then" fit that fuels my westward trip.

Two years since and my city’s sound,
a worthy rival in unbiased eyes
But you haven’t let me go, no
soul’s pulled to the Thames’ depths, the Underground.

The ones who fall for cities seal a certain fate
adopt an altered state, body trained
to a direction that won’t change.
Due east is a city living free,
self-possessed, unconcerned
doing just fine without me.

How I wish you'd stop your river
let the people slow down too
Look around like something’s missing,
like I did more than just pass through.

---

I'm sharing this with you to illustrate a simple point: I am one who falls for cities.

Not all of them, of course. Until now, I've only loved two.

With Minneapolis, the feeling grew slowly. I moved there to go to school, and over the years I gradually discovered its pockets of beauty and charm (much of which I have yet to uncover). It's a quiet love, but it has staying power.

London was a head-over-heals, star-crossed kind of love. The whirlwind romance lasted just more than three months, but years later I still dream of returning and not looking back. If we were given a real shot, I think we could last a lifetime.

But it's happening again, you see. That familiar feeling sneaks up on me as I ride the train into the city at dusk when most others are leaving it, and the skyline slowly peaks through in bits as I get closer. That weightless rush intensified the other day when it started to snow, and the flakes got bigger and bigger, and I couldn't believe my luck that I got to wind among the white rooftops and catch fleeting vistas of glowing streets that stretched as far as I could see. And the people, too. Spending a part of every day in close quarters with a group of strangers with whom you have in common, despite all your apparent differences, this small window of time is deeply comforting. It's often said that living in a big city can be especially lonely, and I don't disagree. But you can't share a quiet train car with fifteen other people for thirty minutes and not come out of it feeling less alone.

It's easy to be in love with more than one city, but you can only really live in one place at a time. And no matter how much you love the city you're in, your mind inevitably wanders toward what life could be like somewhere else. 

Eventually I may have to choose where I want to build a more permanent life, but now is not the time. Right now, I'll let myself fall.