Dear City,
I didn’t think I would miss you this much. When I packed my bags, I told myself I was ready to move on, ready for new streets, new faces, new noise. But sometimes, when the air feels a certain way or a song plays in a café, I find myself back with you. Not all at once, but in fragments.
I miss your mornings. The way light spilled through old buildings, the smell of coffee mixing with rain, the quiet hum before the day began. I miss walking past familiar corners that knew my footsteps. I miss the faces I never really met but somehow recognized, the strangers who became part of my daily rhythm without ever knowing my name.
You were messy, loud, and sometimes cruel. You taught me how to hurry, how to survive, how to be both lonely and alive at the same time. There were nights I wanted to escape you, to breathe air that didn’t taste like exhaustion. And yet, here I am, remembering you with a strange kind of affection.
Leaving you felt necessary, but it also felt like tearing away a piece of myself. Because you weren’t just streets and buildings. You were moments, people, versions of me that only existed there. Every city has its ghosts, and you hold mine gently.
I don’t think I want to come back. But I hope I never forget how it felt to belong to you, even briefly. You will always be the place that shaped me without asking for permission.
With quiet affection,
The one who left but still looks back.