Snapshot 1It ain’t even summer yet

and I’m already excited about the lineup at Grand Performances
sixpacks of Stone and yes, you can have my dollars for Yuna’s clearbright eyes and neon lights lit up on damp concrete in DTLA.
colorado bulldogs & LILT’s at the Boulevard, (rainbow lights,)
where up colorado, we’ll hit our favorite coffee spots again.
take me to WeHo and I promise to brave West Side,
traffic // hold my hand through those sweatslicked long lines
snuggle up in my blanket, to the nightsounds of the valley
zooming fast cars of SGV abandon, for
midnight kisses to that cold ice glass of nai cha.

we’re rolling towards the North, backseated Celica blues
playing your tunes from the gnashes and grinds of high school
she said, “would you ever believe we’ve come this far”
and I said “hold still and wait” because we we’re not there yet —
enter through Oakland, the bridge with flashing lights bounces off the lens as I squint, through these itty-bitty high midnight streets.
Market to Mission, and there are callouses on my toes,
we’re climbing up hills and stairs topsy-turvy, i’m lost in the green of your eyes and the fresh of your hair
the coolness of the air when we’re perched with those birthdaycake houses and now I can say that I’m glad we’re still friends.

Standing on a hill in Monterey Park overlooking the city — as the lights catch fire, I can see how far we’ve come:
where this city cloaked in smog
this city soaked in displacement, the angry wets and rages of people come together in a messy simpering sog on the sidewalks.
It’s not the best but it’s goddamn the home I’ve made in this very time
where from Downey to Studio City you can get your gelato and horchata and creampuffs at 17, and pass by some people
you never notice until 22, but they’ve always been there.
Make community in the places you use to hop over, over passes and freeways and feel guilty about it because where were you when they were suffering — when you could afford to not understand?
but this city is so much more than you, you think
as you descend down that little elementary school —
try to understand even if you don’t speak the language they do, even if you can’t help them, you love this city because we are serendipitous under the stars that we cannot see — separated by heat, smoke, and wind, four million neighbors, 114 communities bunched all together in an arbitrary splosh of highways and skyways and suburbs on this glassy blue and green globe

and somehow, I still found my way back to you.

My community, my home, Los Angeles,
I’m coming home.


About Amy

Amy is a freelance writer and artist based in LA. Her hobbies include romanticizing her world, having too many moody thoughts, and wandering through neighborhoods she's never been in.
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