Dear Toronto, We need to talk. I was born here. I learned to drive on the Gardiner, I know the exact smell of the TTC in July, and I’ve spent more of my life than I’d like to admit arguing about whether the east end is better than the west end. This city is in my bones. Which is why it hurts so much to say this: I’m done. Olivia Chow just got re-elected. Again. And I can’t pretend this is still the place I fell in love with. Look, I tried. I defended the bike lanes while sitting in traffic that now moves at the speed of a progressive policy paper. I paid the property tax increases with a smile and a slight twitch in my left eye. Toronto, I’ve seen you at your best. Summer nights at the island, that one perfect slice at a place that closed forever during covid in 2020, the feeling when the streetcar actually shows up. But I’ve also watched you slowly become a place where the most common conversation is either “how much is your rent?” or “did you hear about the latest thing that happened on the subway?” And now the person in charge of steering us out of it just got another four years. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep explaining to out-of-town friends why a city this rich still can’t pick up its trash, clear a sidewalk, or house its people without turning every solution into a morality play. I can’t keep pretending that freezing fares while everything else goes up is some kind of genius economic strategy. And I definitely can’t keep watching the same debates about “community safety” end with a new working group and a press release. So I’m leaving. I’m taking my Canadian Tire money, my residual fondness for the skyline, and my deep, abiding love of complaining about the weather, and I’m going somewhere that might actually change something when people are unhappy. You’ll always be my first love. But right now you’re the ex who keeps texting “we can make this work” while clearly dating the same person who broke your heart the first time. Take care of yourself. Or don’t. Apparently most of you are fine either way. Sincerely, A native who checked the real estate listings south of the border P.S. If you ever want to try again, you know where to find me. Just don’t bring Olivia. (I asked Grok to write this breakup letter for me because I couldn't even be bothered enough about Toronto any more to do it myself. I did make a few edits, however.)