Sydney

Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney...
your name like a person, like it is alive.
And I feel for you like Neruda did in his poem 20. I don't love you any more, but when I loved you, my face searched every night the harbour sunset to tell you, each night, before the stars started to tremble above the harbour bridge, before the moon painted Diamond Bay silver, down the hill on Clairvaux road: this is the life I want.
I don't love you any more, true, but maybe I still love you. Love is so short, forgetting eternal.
Eternity. The word that shone on the bridge in 2000, at the change of millennial. I repeated that to myself: ETERNITY. This is where I want to be, each day, every day. Forever.

I landed in Australia in 1998, after a more than a 24 hour flight, sitting with eager people, checking facts, getting excited each mile.
I moved in Vicar Street, coackroach paradise, memory lane. My days were lazy, dragging on after alcohol abuse, party, lust in easy prays and poor sleep from loud roommates. I couldn't drag myself to uni, all I wanted was to go down the beach, feel the sand soft like flour. Run, drink pineaple with ginger, run some more. Swim. Love. Dance.
I found the love twice in Sydney, the life changing one. And I chose Sydney above them each time. But you are there, and I am here and I would choose you every time above anything, anyone.
I came back in 99, in 2000, in 2002 and in 2010 I had decided to stay. But I wasn't a good fit, you had better plans than me.
If I have been able to accept my life without you, everything else doesn't matter much.