A PAST PENINSULA
The place I once called home no longer feels welcoming to me. All the memory monuments I erected have either crumbled or been replaced. In their place is an unfamiliar feeling...that I’m the one who no longer belongs. I’m a stranger in a strange land and sometimes I wonder if all the lingering eyes can tell. I drift around on a cloud of nostalgia, one of pure desire for times of old. No longer tethered to person or place, I wonder if I could get back there if I only willed it intensely enough. Perhaps I could just slip into it, soundlessly and effortlessly, as easy as falling asleep.
And yet... small glimpses of recognition carry me through this journey into once familiar places. Each return trip transports me back to adolescent youth, to childlike ignorance, where I find comfort in small shrines to my past life that are hidden in the smell of a flower or the sound of an owl. I cross over into invisible dimensions, ones where I never left...if only for a moment. These small fragments remind me that it’s not blood that binds me here anymore, but time.
The timelessness of your homeland will always break your heart because it will fool you into thinking nothing has changed...that your best friend still lives in that yellow house up the hill and that your parents are calling to see what time you’ll be home for dinner...
