Have you ever fallen in love with a place?

Maybe you remember the first introduction, the quick glance you spared because your curiosity piqued, forming the beginning of a question. You were a little intrigued, that was all. You couldn’t possibly know yet what it would become for you. When the second time came around, you allowed yourself a longer look, you walked away with some recollection, a little fondness. Then it’s the third time, and you daringly toss your legs over the window sill, step out into the open. You allow yourself to stay longer this time, and savour the moment. Familiarity kicks in. The lights of the city shine brighter against the darkness of the street below, and there’s a softness to the cacophony of traffic.

Along comes the day you give it your heart. You don’t realise it right away, of course; one never knows one is offering their heart until after the fact. Bewildered, you try to retrace your steps only to find out you must surely have left your heart back there – in that place. Perhaps it happened when you first pulled back the curtain and the early morning breeze waltzed in, cooling you down. Maybe it was when you decided to step outside again, drawing the curtain closed behind you lest you wake him up, and you watched the sun rise behind the tall buildings.

You don’t remember noticing anything but the fact that you fit there so precisely (isn’t that funny?), a book on your folded knees and a sense of contentment. You do not usually feel every moment but you are present now, you are living in this moment called the wait, a moment which arrived already named. The wait, which is deliciously chilly and inextricably tied to a time, and this place. It is bounded to end, and that is why it is complete. You hear the different bird calls before you spot them all around, zigzagging high and low.

When the warmth of the sun starts creeping along your skin you’re so comfortable – possibly even happy – that you resist going back in. You know you should, a few more hours of sleep will do you well, and you know the moment is over anyway. When you reluctantly head back in it is only because you promise yourself this is but a temporary separation.

And yet.

In a couple of hours you will find out the harder truth, that this place does not belong to you. It can (it is!) taken away with a snap of his fingers. It is not done uncaringly, but it is unmistakable. You discover how hard it is to reconcile the fact with how you feel about it, that loving a place does not make it yours. And so, before you leave the next day – and the next, and the next – a ritual take shape: when it is time to leave, you step outside for a moment. It is a moment you create anew, every time, and you linger. You are saying goodbye; now you know you might not come back. And if this is the last time, if there might not be another moment, then you want to make sure you feel this one. 

You do not ask for your heart back. Still, your eyes wander down the road.