Stay Classy San Diego

When I stepped off the bus in San Diego, I could smell the vibrations and taste the heat. I walked to the hostel with a guitar on my back and a knife in my hand, afraid of everyone I passed. I was a little girl away from home, alone at last, but for the very first time. My blood ran acidic until I reached the gas lamps. There, the crowd smiled a collective smile at me. I realized that I was home.

I left half of my heart in your ocean, San Diego. I soaked half of my heart in your salt, Coronado. I thought I would stay there with you forever, serenading the streets with my hat on the ground for your coins to fall into. I thought I would start over with you, it's true, I thought I would never leave. 

I left half of my spirit at the Greyhound station. I left half of the wind in my lungs on the corner of 7th and Island. I left half of my brain on the concrete where the vagrants slept. I thought I would return for it, but now I don't think I ever will.

I came back to Denver with my strength doubled. I was bound and determined to do right, to be perfect. With a new life inside of me, with an expectation in my womb, I disowned my danger and denied my feet their dance. "I just want to be a good mom," I said. "That's all I want now." But I lied.

I need what I left with you back, San Diego. Send me my courage in the mail, Coronado. I need back the honey that fell from my lips there, that husky-voiced tune, my cartwheel into the ocean. I need my daughter, and I need more than my daughter. I need my self. I need Shelby. 

Maybe I'll see you again, San Diego.

Give me back what you took from me. 

I just need to be whole.