It is true that to love a place is as complicated as any other relationship, romantic or platonic. Perhaps even more so. A city’s flaws can be endless, and reflect the endless flaws of the people who populate it. To attach identity to love for a place you didn’t ask to be in, and a place that was not ever and will never be “yours,” is a fool’s errand, but it is one I have taken to. Because oh, how I adore knowing the corners of a place. Oh, how I love knowing a story of a building or a park or a church parking lot. A story that only a handful of people know. How I love hearing those stories
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