By Broke-Ass Stuart
I love you, I love you, I love you. I love how you’re predictably mercurial. You’re moody, keeping me guessing and on my toes. Every morning I think, “Is this one of her bad days?” while I look out the window, but no one really knows you. Not the weatherman, not the app on my phone, not even my own eyes.
On your good days, there’s nothing better in the world. No one appreciates warmth more than San Franciscans. When you turn on your love light, the world seems better and brighter and full of mirth. It’s intoxicating, really, like that sustained burst of serotonin people have during those first six months of being in love. When the sun is out and the temperature is warm, we, as a city, really are at our best. You make us the people we want to be.
But more often than not, you’re like that beautiful, sullen girl in high school whose aloofness only makes her more alluring. Anybody can love you when you’re flooding their brain with feel-good chemicals. True love is when you see the light in someone, even when they’re utterly dark. And you, San Francisco weather, can be utterly dark. I’d like to think your gloom is our inheritance or maybe more like a down payment, but I don’t think either of those quite gets it right. Your perpetual gloaming is more like a tax we pay for the luxury of living in such an awe-inspiring city. San Francisco might just be the best city in the world, but to truly love it, one must love you as well. And I really do.
I love how the fog comes in on summer nights and obscures the city skyline so it looks like different Towers of Babel, reaching up into heaven for divine communication. I love the chilly winds that whip through the canyons of buildings, causing me turn up the collar of my coat while I walk with the ghosts of Dashiell Hammett and Mark Twain and Emmett Grogan. I love how you want me to be a sharper dresser, so you force me to wear caps and scarves and coats, knowing that men look their most dapper this way.
And I’m pretty sure you love me back. Rarely on days when I have deadlines do you bring out the sun and tease me by saying, “Why don’t you come out and play, Stuart?” In fact, while the rest of the country is currently baking in Dante-esque heat, you’re literally playing it cool. You may be moody and fickle and unpredictable, but deep down I know that you’ve got my best interests at heart, because this is love, baby, and good love is always a two-way street.
You, San Francisco weather, are very special. You’re more than just part of the character of this city; you’re actually our most legendary character. People write famous aphorisms about you. They use you as ambience in movies and books. And, hell, I’m even sitting here writing a love letter to you. This wouldn’t be San Francisco without you. I love you for this and all the reasons I listed above. But more than anything, I love you because you’re mine.
This story is part of our week-long feature, Love Letters to San Francisco’s Quirky Bits. Learn more about it here.
