Sonya is a believer. She believes in love even if she hasn't quite found it yet. She hopes her writing can inspire others to believe in it too, as well as believing in themselves. She steals lunch breaks and midnights to write on the side of her full-time advertising career. She savors chai tea lattes, rainy days, rooftop bars, and handwritten notes. She enjoys exploring the world internationally, as well as in her home of 2 years in Miami, Florida. She believes that everything happens for a reason, and she's okay with not quite knowing what that is yet. See more of her on her blog: www.singlestrides.com
At first, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with you. You played your music too loud, you drew outside of the lines, you spoke too freely, you were inherently lazy, and you were too stubborn apropos of your temperatures.
Now, though, I see you in a different light. You're still too loud, but there is happiness swimming in your music. You are a cultural symphony of life and its amiable opportunities.
Now, I've learned to speak as freely as you, and I am better for it. I own the roads, and I genially battle for my space betwixt the palm trees. You are a yearlong paradise that hardly ever cries. You are a winter dream at 75 degrees and sunshine.
To be honest, though, it wasn't always easy to love you.
You bloom with detours and exist as an endless labyrinth of construction; although, at least with this you understand that there is always room for growth. You see, I used to think you were changing too much, but that was until I realized you were also changing me.
Your attitude knocks down sandcastles at the shoreline. I learned to build them higher. You expect too much for a stranger's smile. I learned to beam effortlessly in spite of such. You stay up much too late for your own good. I have come to love watch the sun rise.
You are selfish, but now I am equally so. You are needy and costly, but you've taught me what to splurge on and who not to settle on. You always require sunglasses with your clear blue skies, but grey was never my color, anyway. You are dangerous, alluring, and audacious, but I no longer fear the challenge of collecting your disparate traits.
You are my city.
You are where I'm meant to be whilst I write barefoot on the beach listening to your daily symphonies. The waves are crashing as they claim their shore. The music plays as it elicits the smiles blossoming around me. The horns may blare, the languages may scream, the mess of freedom may roar, but it all sounds so beautiful to me, now.
At first, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with you. I'd shake my head and refuse to accept you as you were. You were too much of this (traffic), and too little of that (parking). Today you have gone above and beyond to prove me wrong when I drive down your postcard-worthy bridges as I'm hugged by the sunset.
Today you are my home.
You are a heaven with a poor reputation, but what if we only deserve this heaven when we finally stop looking toward the bad? What if we earn our right to the beauty when we start discovering the good? I have found so much good in you.
I even used to hate that you were always late, but now I realize that you were merely teaching me to slow down.
Presently your symphony is my favorite song, your sky is my favorite color, your spices are my favorite flavor, and your reality is my favorite dream. I doubt anyone ever saw this coming - much less I - but, Miami, my dear city... I have irrevocably, inexplicably and whole-heartedly fallen for you.
Let us cheers to endless summers and to the freedom of your endless skies.
"Tu eres mi sol."
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