A Love Letter

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(Written the other day while I was sitting at my dining room table, rain pouring over the balcony, cat power-serenading me with her anguished voice, a glass of red wine in my hand, and an aching heart.)

Dear St Kilda

I just wanted to say that I think about you all the time. I miss you. I miss your sounds. I miss your smells. I miss your rattly tram riding down the esplanade, stopping with perfect timing to collect me and carry me all the way to the top of Acland Street without having bought a ticket.

I miss walking into the ‘clean skins’ bottle-shop, buying some wine from the friendly attendant, who was always there with a bottle opener and suggestions as to where I could get free cups, and then joining my friends on the hill. I miss the hill – sometimes patchy, but perfectly positioned so that I could look over the crowd of people: some drinking, some eating, all chatting and laughing and living.

I miss the sideshow that is the Vineyard. I miss the mean-looking tattoos staring at me, usually hiding the tenderness of their owners. I miss Johnny talking for way too long, but being ever so passionate about whatever topic we hit on. I miss Alex coming in for a moment to play boss, only to sit down five minutes later and buy me a drink.

I miss the sunset over Luna Park. I miss the funny, fat, homeless dude that takes his shirt off and sings the alphabet to me. I miss Murray asking me for cigarettes, even though he knows I don’t smoke. I miss the crumpled pink flower that he wears on that smelly grey suit. I miss my sister. Andy, even though you live in Albert Park, I miss you too. I miss the quick wander down to the Village Bell to down a few tap beers, and I also miss the dingy smell of alcohol and old stories that linger in the corners. I miss the cold. I miss the changes. I miss you.

I love you St Kilda.  I’ll be home soon.



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