Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

It’s scary and weird and hard to think about leaving Portland. When I was in high school in eastern Oregon, Portland was this beacon of culture and sanity for me. I spent so many afternoons dreaming about what my life would be like in the city. I would be sipping cappuccinos out of paper cups, which seemed so incredibly decadent and grownup after living in a town without a Starbucks. I would talk about philosophy with the friends I would make. I would go to poetry recitals where the light is blue cast and everyone snaps instead of claps.

I have been in Portland for nearly a decade now.

I attended three colleges and earned two degrees. I made six places my home over the years with partners and roommates and by myself. I drove one car into the ground and bought another. I worked five jobs here, which irrevocably shaped who I am and how I want to make money in the future (read: never again in an office thankyouverymuch).

It’s impossible to say goodbye to the fall leaves that appear all yellow and orange each year, to the poetry slam and feeling feelings in public, to the bridges, to the roses, to the overpriced martini bars and overhyped donut shops, to grumbling about how Portland is so touristy now, to the food carts that are busy even in the rain, to the memories all over the city of breakups and first kisses. Most of all it’s impossible to say goodbye to the people that have shaped my life, have let me into theirs, have been a family to me.

So, as clichéd as it is, I won’t say goodbye.

Only see you later.


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