On the anniversary.
You were a symbol of potential.
A place of creation.
We all came to you with different purposes.
I met you through a friend from second grade. He lived on your land. He was there to make music and movies and art and poetry. We somehow found our way from Upstate New York to your valley, your little place in the world, in the Angeles National Forest- twelve years later.
You had many people coming and going, but mostly staying.
And then more and more people coming.
My friends lived with you and I met a boy there.
The most beautiful boy in all the world.
Your dark, winding drive through the mountains brought me closer and closer to laying on that mattress next to the beautiful boy with the long blond hair and the three-piece suit.
Brought me closer to that arm that wouldn’t let me go.
But that passed and you became something new.
You acquainted me with artists and musicians and lovers and dreamers and we all sat around talking, creating, waiting for something magical to happen.
And when I left Los Angeles, I was leaving the only semblance of a home I knew there.
But that was a long time ago.
And nothing lasts forever, does it?
I guess everyone thought this time it wasn’t going to happen.
How could it?
There were makeshift layers of our allegiance protecting you.
But it happened.
You went up into the sky.
Every single moment, hope, dream, conception intertwined with your burning embers and disintegrated into the air.
What were we to do without you?
We had to find our way…
And we created new hopes and dreams thanks to you.