If You're Going to San Francisco

We're moving to California, he said. We want you to come with us. 

A hundred different thoughts floated through my head, that sunny afternoon in their Boerum Hill kitchen. Memories of the Spanish family, asking me to come to Panama. Images of New York, and how I fought, so many times, to get here. The nervous excitement, in the very core of my body, that always tingles when adventure appears. I say I will think it over, and proceed to dive into a weekend of excess and methods of forgetting. But the thought lingers, the air of possibility. Ah, life, what it does to us. I take long walks around the river and return exhausted, but none the wiser.

You were the first person I wanted to tell. I didn't, of course, I am trying so hard to be an adult about it all, but in the end I sit here with my question marks and floating ideas and it just seems everything would make more sense if you knew.

Perhaps I ask too much of things that are unreal. I must remember that, when the West beckons.