love letters to ghost cities


It’s a strange, beautiful thing, watching internet-people I admire from afar explore cities I used to live in.

I watched Timothy Goodman‘s Instagram stories in Berlin, earlier today, and from time to time I click onto Jamie Varon‘s feed and look at her pictures and her words about Paris, and it makes my heart ache in a gentle, tender way.

I fell in love with these places, and I left them, and watching other people love on them too makes the memories of them even fonder. These are good cities, I want to tell them, and you look happy there. I am glad. There was magic there for me, and heartbreak and growth and sunsets and really good food, and I hope that you find all of this there too. 

It feels like I am reading love stories to cities that I used to know, and it rekindles my own quiet, faded love for them. I feel stupidly grateful for the people that know how to love places well.


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