Dear San Francisco,

I hate you, I really do. I hate the cardboard signs perched in homeless hands. I hate the smoggy rain that machine guns onto cracked, swollen sidewalks. I hate the Tenderloin junkies begging around painted alleys for a fix. I hate that the Golden Gate Bridge is so overrated. I hate that the hustle and bustle goes against the grain. I hate the idea of you being the gem of the west coast. Most of all, I hate that you’re the only city I make sense in.

This all feels very self-deprecating, but I think I love you like a battered wife holds onto the hand that beats her. Every time I’m with you I finally feel like I belong somewhere; I hate that I belong in such an inconsistent, backwards world, but maybe that’s where I’m doomed to be. Maybe that’s who I’m doomed to be: Forever twenty-one, thrift-store shopping, recycled-book reading, soy latte drinking, heart bleeding, counterculture seeking. I’m doomed to be someone angry with the world, yet so enamored by it at the same time. I wish I knew why you did this to me.

Maybe I’ve been reading too much Tales of the City, but the idea of you sounds more and more pleasing every day. I want to eat sushi off your stomach, pedal bicycles through your catacomb of hills, volunteer in your poorest parts, ride the Muni down the slope of your neck, drink gin and tonic in your Castro, smoke pot on your Tenderloin, and so many other things the San Jose just can’t give me. My brain boils like a cauldron when we are together, San Francisco. Are you trying to kill me, or put me under your spell? Every time you promise lazy paddle boat rides in Golden Gate Park, or green milk tea in China town, you slap me across the face with unintelligible one-way streets and transsexual armpits and crotches pressed into me on the Muni. Why can’t we spend time together with out the bondage and S&M?

What scares me the most is that I won’t love you if I don’t hate you. Sometimes the most tantalizing sex is mysterious and a little painful. Once I’ve gotten a taste, I may not want it taken away. Would you be the same with out your imperfections? Would you feel so good if you stopped sinking your teeth into me when I least expect it?
God I want to spend more time with you. This relationship is so wrong, but it feels so right. When can we be together again?

Love,

Amber

Idk sry

I'm posting here again because I think this brings many dissonant echoing lulcavez

San Francisco ftw.

Though I never went into the castro or the tenderloin that much. I suspect thats where you're problem lies.

I like it a lot. Now I feel bad for not writing anything passable. Good work though very rich.

I can dig it.


Why don't you come on back?

Wow!...The last bit got me all hard.
On a serious note....That was

great


where oceans foam, and hippies roam...San Francisco

nice one amber.

Ha i live 2 cities away from Sf. Hippie hills usually where im at though haha. But yee Sf is sick.