Dear LA,

a love letter to los angeles

I got your letter.

It wasn't written or typed, or even on paper. It wasn't delivered by the Koreatown crows at dusk and I didn't find it painted on a 405 overpass. I heard it down on Western, as a car backfired. When I looked up to find the source, I seemed to be the only one who noticed the sound. I saw your words etched into the eyes of all the occupants of purple line as I found my way downtown, and it made me wonder:

Do you have the same pull on them as you do with me?

Every time I move through you, I feel you drawing me closer to where I'm supposed to be. As though a 5pm gridlock is a woven blanket of reverberating metal and I am a part of something locked inside another something – sitting and waiting, exactly where I'm meant to be.

Los Angeles, you are so much more than what you show the world.

The world doesn't know that after you rain, the air feels clear and clean – and even without my glasses I can see the white-capped mountains in the distance. The world has no idea what you sound like. Ice cream trucks with broken speakers, or the sound of children kicking a soccer ball against a wall. You are my neighbor's dog barking out the window and amplified music mixed with the sound of laughter and languages I don't understand. You are every type of intensified persona, converging at the walk of fame. Yet, you are also the salty, serene whoosh of the ocean, where reality slows as the sound of waves wash over me.

How did you become like this? A place that can smell like jasmine and al pastor, burnt oil and piss – all within the same block?

You are a fortress of duality; that's what the world doesn't know about you – and that's what I love the most. The scatterings of humanity splayed across your streets, naked and dirty, yet up in the hills – that part of you becomes microscopic as the air gets quiet, and the beamers have fewer scratches and stronger tints.

I fall in love with you with each new day, and it's been about 439 days that I have fallen. I'm not sure if I love you more because of who you are, or who I am becoming because of you.

You saved me, LA. You woke me up to flavors and sights and realities I didn't know existed... and you woke me up to myself.

I see now the facade you present to the outside world is just to protect your core; this beautiful ecosystem of converging cultures and biological diversity. I don't even hate your traffic …because everyone is always late anyways.

And this whole "lonely in LA" talk. I have never been more alone than when I first arrived at your front door. Heartbroken with a car full of my belongings, I was a transplant cliche – eagerly in search of something, but not entirely certain of what.

You moved in on me like a fever dream, neon color, strong cologne, and perfect angles. And it's through you that I am overwhelmed with understanding that I am alone, but will never be lonely. You taught me how to slow down and be tender. How to look for the people I can call my own. You open doors for me at every corner, and despite emptying my pockets – you have never left me hungry.

For the first time in my life, I'm not wondering what's on the other side. I am not longing for more. I don't ever want more – I just want you, my home, Los Angeles.

Forever,

Hannah