Ode To My Hillside Home
I walk along your hills at golden hour, first, passing the bald man carrying his groceries and calling up to the black cat perched on the third floor window. They greet each other a few times a week. Each corner I turn, I’m met with another scene from an Indie film. It doesn’t fail to make my stomach flutter. Looking past the tiled rooftops and land of palm trees, I stand over a city full of dreamers. Even when the streets close in, and my pockets are empty, and loneliness finds me again, I want to keep it closer. I’m quite fond of you as my first. Friends, lovers, and strangers have passed through you. And Hollywood goes back in time. My eyes, stained with a lifetime of memories, remember the mark you left. You are exactly what I had in mind when I thought of you — a significant chapter in this book of mine that I’ll read over and over. I’ll never forget about you.
