Our city is painted with thoughts and feelings
Walls unkempt and overrun with expression
Made to fit movie screens with their perfection

Our city is lit by lovers and dreamers
They hold hands without caring and kiss in the daylight
Unlike me, they wouldn’t mind who was staring

Our city is a film still in my memory
Growing more valuable with time
The white becoming a little more golden with age

Our city is a privilege to me, a sacred moment
Not a city anymore but a nostalgic pang of laughter and a dull awareness of seconds
Always passing too quickly, like a reservoir that everyone knows will soon be emptied but that is drained anyway

Our city is bookstores and mountains
Dark cars and dim statues
Nightwalkers and busy streets

Our city is happiness and fear and youth and color and reckless and forward and awesome

But maybe Our City

Is just mine.