It doesn’t stop wanting to go back to where it belongs. The heart is a complex thing, both scientifically and otherwise. What is one man’s home, is other man’s prison; where the inmate only finds solace in what he sees through the tiny window. This city, this home to insane money and luxury, is the perfect melting pot of cultures.
Three years ago, when I moved here, the heart was hopeful, yet clenched the memories of that which I had left behind a little too tightly. The greenery, the peace, the home. My home. A city grows onto you, they say. Or does it? I know not, and I never will. I hadn’t quite liked the way it grew on me. I have despised it all this time. And then yesterday, as I looked at this picture of the mighty structure that towers over the city, it dawned upon me that, perhaps, I don’t despise the city all that anymore. After all, it is here where I have found work, and it is here where I have birthed my first-born. I wonder when I let it grow on me, for I’m certain I’m far away from falling in love with it.
What I’m uncertain of is when the road of dislike curved, and how farther away have I come..