I love this city for both its gentle eroticism and its restlessness. I love my memories of entire summers spent here—the mysteriously deserted cove at Tablerock and PCH in South Laguna, the seemingly endless steps that give birth to warm sand, the occasional drumming circle that will evolve on a random Monday or Tuesday evening.
This is a beautiful place. And even tonight, from an apartment building in Los Angeles that may seem cold and white and modern and soulless, I will look out of a bedroom window and imagine the peacefulness of Laguna, of that moment of stepping out of the shade and into the sun, that feeling of warmth on your shoulders as if God is hugging you. I will imagine and remember my non-home home, this city that became a sanctuary.