​Seattle, Seattle. Seattle. … Seattle.

Seattle is weird.

Seattle is loud.

Seattle is peaceful.

Windy and wavy

Seattle is tiny. Cramped and crowded. Tight, narrow and enormous.

Its many colors and single season.

Seattle is vastly indifferent,

Strangly tolerant,

And abudantly judgemental.

Its vast seas and lack of sand.

Layers upon layers upon layers.

As hypnotic as a serpent, it sheds its skin each year.

Does it know of the forest beyond?

The great east?

The vast evergreen that surrounds it?

Nay, I do not think it knows of the world outside its world.

Perhaps those that come and go.

Or those who choose to stay forever.

But, no. Not Seattle.

Never Seattle.

Seattle is Seattle, and it is what makes Seattle Seattle.

Why do I write about Seattle, you ask?

I do not live here, you see.
And it is weird to me.


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