Ode to Madrid

Dear Madrid,

I’m leaving you today.

I want you to know it’s nothing personal. Winds have changed, I’m being pushed to a new home. The horizon seems to be on the other side of the world again.

But please know how deeply, deeply grateful I am for all you have given me. Incase you’re not fully aware of everything you have given me, of everything I will miss with all the cells in my body, I write this list: a meaningful and haphazard list of us.

Thank you for your sun. It shines so bright and hot and contrasts your sky’s brilliant blue like a well-instagrammed photo. Thank you for your colorful buildings. I’ve banged into street poles and tripped on many a broken sidewalk admiring those colors. Thank you for your cheap, cheap wine. It justifies getting buzzed at noon. Thank you for Tiger. One-stop shop for all your needs that aren’t necessary. Thank you for the smell of hot piss on the streets. It wouldn’t feel like Lavapiés without it. Thanks for the dog shit. Kept me present. Thank you for providing me with English conversation students… never again will I get paid 25 euros to talk nonsense for an hour. Thank you for the people. I mean it when I say how overwhelmed I feel often at the kindness and brilliance of the people I’ve met here. Thank you for Retiro park. It’s perfect. Thank you for your cobblestones. Thank you for your small apartments. Thank you for your funny washing machines. Thank you for your Indian restaurants. Thank you for your coffee. Thank you for your confidence. Thank you for your plazas. Thank you for your street lamps. Thank you for your bratty children. Thank you for your mountains. Thank you for your metro. Thank you for your museums. And your chinos. And your artists. And your laziness. And your rallies. And your families. And your gypsies. And your tortilla. And your tostas. And your  cañas. And your pharmacies. And your street performers, like Dora the Explorer, who always takes his head off. And your dogs. And your flowers. And your language. And your liveliness. And your parties. And your douchebags. And your creepy neighbors. And your fruterías. And your foreigners. And your villages. And your openness. And your sympathy. And your languor. And your love. And my love. Thank you.