Dear Manchester,
The modest, fascinating city I call home.
When I think about it, there’s no other city that I’d rather grow up in. I love everything about your industrial heritage, your edgy and unique restaurants and bars, the musical talents you formed from Oasis to The Smiths.
I love your comforting grey skies and constant drops of rain, the things that remind me of my Northern roots and reinstate the fact I’m home. Your endless shops and cafes that allow my shopping obsession to run free, and the cool bars I’ve made so many happy memories in.
I love the people that inhabit you. The friendliness and chattiness of everyone you meet, all full of smiles and positivity, whatever the weather. The only place where you’d still find people in shorts and a t-shirt sitting on a park bench in winter, unaffected by the city’s breezes and blows.
My favourite thing about you, I have to admit, was only discovered recently. You’ve encountered a terrible time, in May 2017 to be exact, that nobody would wish on any city or any person who comes to visit and see their favourite pop singer perform. A time that shattered hearts and spirits and brought a cloud of soul-crushing sadness over you. But what did you do? Your people rose up and united, and flooded out the hatred and anger with love and unity. Helped out those in suffering with care and support.
Although I may move away someday, or fall in love with cities elsewhere,
There’s something you possess that can’t be taken away. You’ll always be my home.
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