Some days you were shy, hiding behind a veil of gray.
You must have thought I wouldn't see you, but I always did.
The way the water formed borders ever shimmering, teeming with fish.
The pointed hats of saleswomen and their golden loaves of bread
slicing through the horizon.
Soup steam rising from every corner stall, calling me to sit and eat.
Dusty feet, bike tires, motorbikes in constant motion, streets turned rivers, turned streams. Buildings, tall and thin, adorned with carvings and colors that could have been from anywhere, except they weren't.
They were yours.
Chicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird.