Love Letters to San Francisco: Bernal Heights


Sunset on Bernal Hill

Sunset on Bernal Hill

Some things we have only as long as they remain lost, some things are not lost only so long as they are distant. — Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“Come home with me,” I said. “And tomorrow we’ll drink Mexican coffee and eat huaraches topped with squash blossoms from the farmer’s market. We’ll get pushed around by Asian grandmothers whose bags of dandelion greens are as big as they are. We’ll taste 20 kinds of pluots and stain our lips the color of abandon.”

“Come home with me and I’ll show you the not-so-secret slides and the weed that grows between cracks in the asphalt that smells like pineapple when crushed between your fingers.”

“Come home with me and we’ll climb Bernal Hill and from there you’ll see that distance looks like opportunity and not regret.”

“Come home with me and I’ll be the girl you always wanted.”

And you said, “If I hadn’t incinerated my first marriage in just this fashion, I’d happily go flinging myself over the cliff of our romance.”

You said, “You make me dream of lives that could never be mine.”

You said, “So thank you.”

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