Strange is the nostalgia I feel tonight. I’ve just arrived at the apartment after hours on the highway and crammed in public transportation.
The air is wet. I don’t hear any sirens, any inebriated yelling, any car horns; the city is resting tonight, but resting like a coiled spring. It feels just like it did four years ago, the first time I came here with a former lover–it feels desperate. Maybe it was being on a city bus for the first time in I can’t remember how long, or the humidity, or pain that comes from goodbyes. My heart hurts in a familiar way.
My love is scattered. When I’m in Chicago, I miss my Madison friends, and when I’m away I long to return. This city has finally become home, and I am about to leave her–about to betray her for that seductress out west.
Identity is contextual–I am as much a chameleon as I am a vagabond. Only my love can ground me. I need stability, need a home that will last. I hope Oakland can be that home, but for six more weeks I must navigate through currents of emotions and finances and mysteries and plans.
We move. We move. We move.
July 20th, 2008 at 11:00 pm
Sometimes it seems like the more places we have roots, the harder it gets cause your life feels fragmented. But then again, you’ll always have friends all over the country :) I already miss you and you’re still here!
July 21st, 2008 at 11:44 pm
Bring it on man. I feel myself slipping away from this town and these people. Their lives will split as rapidly as mine or they will stay here forever. I will know them as I know them now. And that won’t change until I see them again. And knowing that is what sparks an uncertain anxiety about this whole transition. Bring it on.