I was right and I was wrong and I liked that I was right about how wrong I was going to be. Funny how I choose the same thing over and over, but I am not insane: I don’t expect the result to change.
When I walk the streets I came from, I can feel my soul chafe now. Like a wool sweater you can never take off. A low-key itch you just can’t scratch, an edge you just can’t smooth, a contrast you just can’t blend in anymore. Maybe I never truly belonged here.
I carry pieces of here with me, they are part of my mosaic. Maybe I am too close to the puzzle to make sense of it, I can’t read my own mind. But more and more I am convinced the puzzle forms a circle and tracing the outlines and creases I am bound to return to places and people I let go so many times.
This time, again, I let go and I smile.
Space and time suspend across the years and across the table, and the feeling is both lighter than air and heavier than lead and it’s not the alcohol to blame.
I’m never the same after, though the details why always escape me. You’re hard to remember, but impossible to forget.
What started as a single thread has become complex knit-work and I don’t care to take it apart. I wrap it around my shoulders as I step outside, lock the door behind me and venture on.
And then I catch myself looking back over my shoulder.
“Is it all in my mind?
Am I lost in my own head?
Worrying about something I should have said
You’re the only thing I don’t regret”
[Part 13 of Volume 2 of my “Thinking in Acronyms” series”]