California is being two years old in San Diego and seeing the ocean for the first time. My aunt says I pointed at it and said, "Pool."
California is visiting. It is vacation. It is deserts and mountains and ocean and date palms.
California is coming to the realization that we aren't really friends anymore but I'm still going to have you in my wedding because I'm not at the point that I can say goodbye yet.
California is a scent in the air when, living on the gulf coast, the wind would shift and the salt and wet and sand would blow in from Galveston. That smells like kindergarten, I would think.
California is a honeymoon in San Francisco.
California is returning 10 years later with my girls. It is Yosemite and Big Sur and hauntingly beautiful places that don't seem to share the same reality with the safe grounded place I call home.
California is late night phone call when you tell me you're in love with me but the reciprocal isn't true.
Have I been to California? Always.