I miss her.
I miss her warmth.
I miss the smell of the salt on my skin, and the sound of the waves crashing into her shore. I miss the feeling of being in The Golden State, a state of permanent vacation, no longer a state of denial. For I, much like Inglewood, am also usually up to no good.
I am lonesome for the sound of her. The cold echo of sirens on the warm evening air. The choppers above, knowing that danger was near. The stand still and honking on Sunset Blvd, driving around in our cars pretending that we are important. We all have somewhere to go. I am not sure about you, but the beach is calling my name. Hear that? Angiest, let me crash into you.
I long for her sunshine to touch my face. I want to see the blue sky, the palm trees, the traffic on the 405. I want to see it all again. I am lonesome for her like I have been for no other. I did not see this coming. I did not think that I would feel a desire like this, nor would I feel a loss. But I do. I miss her. This time I will go back for her, not for you. Not for a love that was never really true. I will go there for me, and for her, and for the waves of blue. Salt is still my favorite flavor too.
She came into my life in a whirlwind, I spent two weeks with her, and then quickly went back again for another two years. I thought I was done with her, I thought she only brought me sadness, but the truth is I enjoyed her madness. I loved the way that she made me feel. She taught me how to overcome the silence and fears. She showed me how to be alive. I didn’t even mind the smog, I embraced it. I loved the walls of tagging, the swap meets, the grit of being in a city that made me feel alive yet also so dead inside. Maybe I love the idea of being lost in a city that is lost. Her and I were lost together, usually we were looking for you. That has changed now, I never think of you anymore, I never really cared about you anyhow. Or did I? She knows, she knows all of my secrets, I left them on The West Coast.
California, I love you. I miss you more than I thought I ever would. I tested you and you pushed me back as far as you could, and then I gave up and left you there. I came to you for the wrong reasons, but when I come back I will return with love, nothing but love. California love. Let me welcome everybody to the wild wild west.
My heart belongs seaside, next to the graffiti walls, just close enough to hear the skateboards grind on the rails and smell the morning reefer madness. I want to look to my right and see Santa Monica Pier and look to my left and see the red and white stacks of Manhatten Beach. I want to put my feet in the sand by lifeguard station 23, think about you and me, and just bask in the sunshine of her love. California love. I want to feed the birds, I want to see David and his paintings with metaphysical meanings, so beautiful, so pure of heart. This is what love is about. This is what life is about. California and its beautiful drought. How is a drought even possible when I left all of my tears on her floor? I cried a million and one of them, and never even asked for a single thing back from her.
Here I am, 1200 miles away from forever. My name is still written in the sand on the shores of Santa Monica. I fell in love with love and the idea of something. My heart is not in San Francisco, it never was. It doesn’t belong there, it belongs in Venice Beach, every single corner of that city. Always West Of Lincoln. AWOL. I am AWOL. I don’t know where I am going, but I sure know where I belong. The question I guess I really have to ask myself is how long. How long until I go back again. A year, two, maybe never. Who knows, maybe I will eventually enjoy this sweater weather, up here in the Pacific North West.
Let’s show these fools how we do this on that west side.
California. I love her. I love her so damn much.