You shaped me and you moved me and you loved me and you made me.
I love you so. You are and will forever be my city. I came into myself beneath your mossy trees. Your cobblestone streets taught me how to run, both literally and figuratively, towards the things and the people that give me life.
You showed me a world of people and ideas and attitudes and clothes and lifestyles that I always wanted but didn’t know where or how to find in my small little Texas town. I forged deep friendships and relationships in between Jones St. and Broughton, over iced chais at Paris Market and Starbucks, through drunken nights at Murphy's and sunny afternoons spent at Forsyth.
I fell in love in between art classes and beside the beach that we called ours. I watched my friends fall in love amongst the magic of your charm, too. I watched us all make a home for ourselves, together as friends and separately as individuals from across the world, each reaching you from a corner opposite of the next, yet each of us finding our own place within your sun dappled streets. You welcomed us with such an open heart and let us devour you with such hungry energy, such passion in our words and in our movements and in our desires.
A part of my heart learned to beat, wholly and loudly and fiercely, while under your watch. It’s as if every day you were whispering “go on, give it a try. I’ll be here if it works and I’ll be here if it doesn’t work.” And then if it did work, whether it was an art project or a friendship or a race or an outfit or a meal, the sun seemed to make that building across from Poetter Hall shimmer a little bit brighter, or the line at Zunzi’s would only be a few people deep, those flags flying high with promise, or our favorite professor would cancel class for the afternoon and suddenly we would find ourselves on the way out to Tybee, windows down, music up loud, big smiles across our face. The whole world was before and for us.
And then if it didn’t work, whether it was an art project or a person or a night out or whatever, the evening lights inside the homes along Gordon and Jones and Gaston would seem to flicker, like a little wave of encouragement saying “it’s okay, you. chin up.” Or the same man who read the morning paper with his coffee in Gaston square and the older woman who always walked her little white pup, the same ones you always saw at the exact same time in the exact same squares every Monday through Thursday on the way to your eight AM, would say “hello” a bit louder and would smile a little bit wider, like they always knew when a college girl felt a little homesick or a little defeated. The baristas you would come to know and love and call friends would give you one on the house just because. Somehow, you always had a way - a way of building us up so we could fly, a way of comforting us as we fell, a way of convincing us to do it all over again and again and again.
No matter where I go in this world, you truly never feel too far away. I can still breathe in the thrill of wine walks with my best friend through your dark squares, I can still hear our voices high and silly and mighty as we laughed and talked and dreamed together. I can still place the exact moment I knew my husband was “the one,” I can still feel the heat from that summer day and can still taste the salt from the wave that came barreling at us as we crashed in your ocean and played like kids. I can still feel the promise of an entire future ahead as I close my eyes and walk down Broughton Street. I can still smell that old familiar smell of Bergen, a mixture of darkroom chemicals and the must of an old Savannah building. I can still feel the thrill of knowing I was home, both within my soul and within your historic streets, of knowing I was exactly where I was created to create.
You will forever be one of my most favorite cities. You will forever be the one that shaped my future, that took my past and created a tidal wave of hope from nothing. You will forever be home.
Thank you and I love you.