Sunday, May 27, 2007

Home, Elsewhere

I’m home, in the comfort of my bedroom, for the first time in three weeks. The air-conditioning purrs on; Marv Albert’s talking about Steve Kerr on TV; McClure, Dylan, and Ginsberg keep me company in black and white, taped to the wall.

I’m here, but my mind’s elsewhere, in a quaint university town, where tempura persons summon you from across the street, where two dishes and rice sets you back P40, where a muse has seemingly captivated a new scribe, leaving this one to wonder why he had allowed himself to leave, to let (her) go.

The muse will soon return, the quaint little town will be revisited someday, but I doubt I’ll ever be the same person, and in the whirlwind of confusion, I’ve begun to wonder if I’ll ever be the person I thought I’d be.

And I’m guessing even her return will do little to help.

There’s just something about that town, and what it represents in this life story. A subtle denial. A letting go. A bitter it-wasn’t-meant-to-be.

But still I say thank you, for it’s the only reasonable thing to say, really. I apologize for the burdens, to those who’ve been victimized by private lamentations, and to those who’ve been left in the dark the whole time.

And I bid all of you a temporary farewell and the sincerest of hopes for your well-being. Until the next journey, together or otherwise. Hope to see you all soon, once we’ve all had a chance to make sense of it all, if at all possible.


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