I think I love you.
I know, like the whole world loves you. I mean look at you: you’re young, well-connected–and you got peaks to die for. But unlike them, I like the real you. You’re gritty, a little dirty, definitely dangerous. I even like the parts you try to hide. I like you when you’re happy, even if it’s only for a moment. I even like you when you cry, even if it’s for a month straight.
And even though you always make me wait, and even though you always make me pay, and even though I don’t always understand you: I’ll never leave you, because my God, you are beautiful.
Vancouver, you’re my city.