It must have been around 2:30 last night.
I lay in my bed, my body stretched diagonal across the mattress. The fan spun above me.
I waited for sleep.
My eyes closed.
The yearning hit me so hard I almost began to sob. A vision of my beloved city rose up behind my eyes. I was driving over the Champlain bridge and knowing I was home. The far off landmarks rising up from the St Lawrence.
I did not live there any more. It was no longer my home.
I have a new home now. Or at least a new place to build a home. A nest to feather.
I lay in my bed, my body stretched diagonal across the mattress. The fan spun above me.
I waited for sleep.
My eyes closed.
The yearning hit me so hard I almost began to sob. A vision of my beloved city rose up behind my eyes. I was driving over the Champlain bridge and knowing I was home. The far off landmarks rising up from the St Lawrence.
I did not live there any more. It was no longer my home.
I have a new home now. Or at least a new place to build a home. A nest to feather.
I weave the bittersweet.
2 Baleful Regards:
If I were one of those super-positive people, I would say "Oh, you will soon learn to LOVE your new city," but I have moved to places that never got to feel like home, so that wouldn't be truthful.
But I will wish you many happy adventures in your new city.
It was such an unexpected feeling. I don't know why, but it was the sudden way that the feeling arose with no warning that tilted me into melancholy.
I loved Montreal. I still love Montreal. I would love nothing more than to have a permanent home there someday. I think I thought I would never leave that city for all of its bipolar nature.
Yet here I am, in the Midwest; a place that feels familiar but still I am marked as an outsider.
Time, of course. Time will help. The damn lucid dreams haven't been helping either. I could do without those.
I'll miss you Sb in NYC at BlogHer. Maybe next year? I should have some time and maybe even a little money again!
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