Seattle Washington is a blimp on the horizon, a quiet raindrop of untold dreams, a roaring storm echoing lost hopes, a shard of light, a bellow of darkness, a chasm of possibilities, a gathering for the inopportune. It is the warm dew of starched pavements on a wet morning, the congregation of graffiti meeting graffiti on an waking neighborhood shop, the dull hum of the speeding train whizzing past the rotting fields of the countryside, the overwhelming fog rising to the sky scrapers as a visual rift between the rich and the poor. For me it was a conjunction of angels, spirits, and all watching, all feeling, all doing godfather. Anyone else seeing the same it would be the dark alliance of demons, rascals, and a wide scattered range of imps decaying the foundation for the rest of the dark and lonely city. Difference in values.
Beyond the horizon, the sun illuminated the land in a shimmering haze of pollution. Back, behind the mess of entangled buildings littering the quiet countryside was the skylight piecing together a warm silhouette of the jagged mountain ridge. It was too far now though. Instead it was the dense mass of skyscrapers that glittered luminously. From up there the people were needle points and cars were blood cells flowing in and out the veins of the city. Despite the time, the hustle and bustle never stopped completely, though it would adjourn for a minute as a solemn reminder of the mortality of it all. It was all so magical.
Even in the dark, washing away all traces of the sun, the drift of the parading aura of its people enraptures the atmosphere as a longstanding note for hope. It rests its beliefs dawdling on the pier to the side, proud on the things that be on the bay. The waters where time rows in a sudden stillness the voice of conviction and radiating a beacon of energy long onto the fallen skies of a gale twisted soul of people.
The city loves me in ways no person ever has. Or I guess, ever can. It listens to my fierce footsteps, the clicking of my polished heels against its dirty pavements on an late afternoon. It sees me grin ear to ear eyeing the reflection of the windows convening the orange glow of an evening's sun. It empathizes with my frustrated groan long past midnight unable to flag a taxi home. It listens to my satisfaction sipping the day's first coffee warming my throat, thawing my hands. It celebrates me on top of the world, and cries for me when life gets conniving. The city hears and feels every moment of every day of my every day life. It understands.
The smell of the trees, concrete, and towers lingers long past the trees, concrete, and towers, and instead follows you inside your home, into your heart. Visiting Seattle just once is enough or it to take hold. For it to weave itself so deeply and firmly into your heart and presenting an unyielding ambition to ever let go. Wherever you journey to after, you'll always remember, for better or for worse, you'll always remember the anarchy of wishes and unfed appetites, the chaos of distinct joy, and the disorder of a quiet peacefulness guarded as ever. You'll always remember Seattle.
