When we arrived, young, blinded by stars in our eyes and endless city lights multiplied in the skies and in our hearts, we had hope.
Time passed without permission, marked by changing city landscapes as seasons raced by, and our love flourished, claiming the heartbeat of the city for its own; believing the promises of the ocean and the mountains and nature invading urban spaces. Our family grew, by one, and then two; seasons of eternal showers imprinting their cadence on our souls, we felt hope.
Now, the city that we love cannot love us back - it was laundered and sold by leaders less truthful than bold - we can't afford to grow old together here. We are drowning, struggling to stay afloat in a city owned by distant millionaires. Some days, it can be hard to find hope.
Before it's too late, I think we should go; leave behind these beautiful mountains, take the city skylines etched on our bones, and find a new place to watch our love grow. We still have dreams - our hope can't be sold - we’ll take them on the road with the memories we hold, when we go. We have hope.