you're still beautiful

This was the scene in San Francisco when I arrived:

Hundreds of people were lounging in Dolores Park enjoying the sunshine. Bikes were strewn across the park, tossed aside by their riders who were laying in the grass laughing with friends. I walked through the mission and crowds of people were strolling through closed-off alleys taken over by music festivals, block parties, and really free markets. The air was clear, and electric, and full of possibility; as if the entire city was celebrating a secret holiday. It was like one of Mona Caron's murals.

I was amazed because everyone looked so damn happy. Giddiness, joyfulness, dreaminess, hung like ornaments in the air. I stood in Dolores Park laughing, because it seemed like a farce. A joke. A bad joke. That here in this city, was joyful life–like I had not seen in a long time–like out of a story book. Yet, I knew this was an aberration, and that often San Francisco is cold and foggy and things can feel hopeless here too, just like anywhere. But where I live now – in gray, sullen Chicago is such a stark contrast, that I had to laugh at the fates. And the realization of what I had walked away from. Beautiful San Francisco.