I’ve been looking for someone like you for awhile. Something special. I had my tulmultuous relationship with Quetzaltenango, but it just didn’t work out in the end. I’ve been with Mexico City, but sometimes it’s just too much. I dallied a bit with Queretaro and Gualajara, but we just didn’t click.
Morelia, we clicked.
At first glance you are steely and cool, and at second rosy and warm. Your buildings are almost all made of grey stone, but there’s a strong hint of pink amidst the grey.
You’re rough around the outsides, but beautiful on the inside. I like that rough ‘n tumble Latin look you’re sporting as I first approach you. But as I make my way deeper to your core, I realize you’re one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen.
Sometimes you’re modern, and other times old-fashioned. One moment you’re wearing a cowboy hat and charming me with your chivalry, and the next you have long dreadlocks and you’re throwing me a mischievous glance.
You bestow me with that tranquility I’ve been craving yet I don’t think you’re boring. I feel safe in your arms, and the air is fresh and clean. I can see the mountains in the distance, and it relaxes me to know that nature is so close. Your pace of life is slower, and I want to slow down with you.
But there’s certainly lots bubbling under your surface. I get the distinct impression that I would have a lot of fun and variety if I hung around you for awhile. You’re complex than you seem, I know it.
And damn, man, do you know how to cook!
So I’ve decided that I want you. You’re the one for me, and I want to stick with you for the long haul.
And here’s why it hurts: you don’t want me back. Here I am, willing to move here, and you don’t want me to.
I drop off resumes at every language school in town, and all I get are no, no and more nos. Am I not good enough for you?
You say it’s just not a good time for you. Maybe I could come back and apply in July, you say. Maybe you’ll have room for me then. But what if I’ve found someone else – a different city – by then? What if I don’t feel the same way about you anymore, Morelia? It might be too late!
So now I’m heartbroken, Morelia. I walk down your streets, marvel at the serenity in your breathtaking cathedral, I’m amazed at the friendliness of your sons and daughters, I enjoy the sunlight on my shoulders while I eat a refreshing cup of gazpacho. But I can’t really enjoy it, Morelia, because I know this romance won’t last.
Post a Comment