I loved the smell of butcher paper on a Friday afternoon replaced with

the sight of rusty crucifixes come Monday morning.

I loved the bounce of potholes left unpaved—and the red minivan that meant to miss them.

I loved chime of the bell-tower that brought delighted yelps from anxious schoolchildren.

But don’t go pass the wire fence, because oak trees aren’t bulletproof 

and privileged children are the ones sought after the most.

But soon, cracked sidewalks opened to reveal a rabbit hole

and lanky limbs tumbled down before the body was ready.

They left the broken cityscape behind 

but the bell tower went with. 

I love the smell of rubber seats in shiny SUVs 

and the children they pull away from sprawling green lawns and golden retrievers.

I love how the earth sounds at dawn—when the world quiets and the backyard seems to stretch to the end of the universe. 

I love the call of an empty stage, because it brims with anticipation

knowing the kindest souls are soon to walk across its paint-splattered floor.

“Yeah Dad, this was better in the long run. 

The pavement here is as black as coal, and I’ve never seen so much of it.”

I will love the buzz of the metropolis, 

and the sound of high heels echoing off the sides of glass skyscrapers. 

I will love the crackle of book spines,

 and the words inside that revolve through the thoughts of yearning minds. 

I will love the feel of woolen sweaters,

 and comfortable jeans that have rips in just the right places.

They say you find God in unexpected places, so I’m not sure if he came with me. 

It will take a while to feel like home, but when it does, I’ll know.

Because when laughter replaces tears, the rabbit hole doesn’t feel as deep as it once did.

I’ve heard the coffee from the french market is to die for, 

would you like to go and have a cup with me?