Today when I was biking to work I discovered that the bike path has been co-opted for car travel due to construction disaster from the hole in the tunnel where they were building the second metro line. It's not impossible to bike to work, but it requires carrying the bike up/down stairs, biking directly next to traffic, along an uneven sidewalk. Because I have spent the last few weeks thinking about whether to move permanently away from Warsaw, this struck me as yet another signal that my needs and preferences are a really low priority for this city. I mean, come on, Warsaw, it's like You're not even trying.

Some people have relationships with other humans. I have relationships with cities.

Ottawa, my first, innocent love. Really sweet while it was happening. He took me from immaturity to maturity, shaped my values and my lifestyle. Many aspects of my identity can be traced back to our experiences together. But I sort of outgrew him. I like to visit every once in a while, catch up, learn what's new, but really we don't have that much in common anymore. I will always like his family, and he will always send me a Christmas card.

Berlin and I have something of a flirtation going. We make a lot of eye contact. We've had a few intense conversations. Berlin brings out aspects of me that I very much like, but rarely expose. We've never more than inadvertently touched, and we're never in the same place at the same time long enough to think seriously about dating. Who knows if it would work. But the spark is there.

New York is the guy who was really into me, and at the time I needed that. Every so often it is really, super *pleasant* to be around someone who just appreciates and validates You. New York, one of the few relationships in my life where I didn't feel like I was doing most of the maintenance. New York wanted me to be in touch. Sought out my company. I thought for a while that we could last. I thought it might be enough that New York loved me, and wanted me around, and was generous in compliments and benefactions. I thought that I could grow to love him back, just as much, with time. And I really did enjoy being around him. New York was surprising, smiled every time he saw me, supported me in all my chosen endeavours. That city motivated me to become better. Introduced me to so much. Taught me about my limitations and my potential, but more importantly about compromises. Helped me develop and grow. All these things that research says creates strong and lasting and committed bonds. But my heart belonged to another.

Warsaw, my aching, noxious, unrequited love. I love You so goddamn much, Warsaw! I want to write Your name on my jeans and draw flowers and hearts all around it! I want to stay up all night and make out with You under a bridge! Why is it that most of what You do indicates that You don't care about me at all? All my life I have loved You. You let me. You *encouraged* me. With Your dynamism, Your romantic impracticality, Your helter-skelter. Your unshaken confidence, despite all objective criteria, that You deserve my admiration. Your fascinating psychoticism, which can only be understood by natives. *I* am a native, Warsaw. *I* get You. Why isn't that enough? Your seductive little droplets of acknowledgement. Yes, You appreciate me, when You remember I exist. My being at Your side adds a shimmer of prestige, of cosmopolitanism, to Your defiant barbarism. Isn't that what You want? Why are these licks of acceptance followed so steadily by heavy blows of rejection? Why do You show me Your beauties and wonders, only to cut off my advances, like I'm standing at a glass door whose lock mechanism requires a secret knock created by someone with no sense of rhythm? You goddamn tease. Why do I keep trying? Why? When the only thing You've ever shown me is that You'd like me to be exactly different than how I am? Why can't You love me back? Why did You let me love You for so long, give me hope? Hope that we could eventually be happy together? That You were changing? I can see that You're changing, Warsaw. You are. You're even changing in my direction. I've heard rumours that You're recently infatuated with someone actually JUST LIKE ME BUT 20 YEARS YOUNGER. What the FUCK, Warsaw! What. a. fucking. CLICHE! You are so bad for me! I will never be able to forgive You for breaking my heart!

And now, Tromsø. Thank the stars for Tromsø. Tromsø is reliably good to me. He is the guy who has been around a while, and suddenly out of nowhere I realize that there's this guy, right here, in front of me, who is marriage material. It's not like he's especially magnetic, or universally appealing, or aggressively present. But being with him invariably, INVARIABLY, makes me happy. He doesn't have everything, but he has the things that I want. He is effortless. He is supportive but not overbearing. He laughs at my jokes, with the pure joy of a miraculously shared vision of reality. I might, sometimes, briefly, consider his faults. Everyone has them. Then I will consider how easy they are for me to abide. Tromsø, I think I love You. And I think You love me back. And I'm going to fight for our future together.