The other day, I found myself thinking of it from the perspective that, maybe, it came too easy the first time. And, the moment I thought it, I could see it spread before me—the shape of this time to come, as a path back, to where I’ve been before but forgot how to love. To a place I needed to re-learn to be able to see again. To bring new life to it by virtue of the very path itself, that would make me a different person in a different place just by taking the long way round. I still love that place. I still love those people. I am still on my way toward the heart of them.

The way I miss my apartment is like a restlessness in my bones.

When I think of it, I feel that I’ve given away something I would never have been able to get on my own—something allowed me only by the help, the trouble of others. In that way, it was more precious than I had a right to lose.

The way I miss reaching up to grab hold of the bus and swing myself into place on the tall front seat in one sure movement is enough to carry my feet forward toward whatever street I see, though there will be nothing there to meet me.

That time, in effortless motion, headed toward some sure place with the reason already decided was when I felt confident enough to think of things beyond myself. To take the energy of life that moved around me without need for my involvement and use it to stray down more creative intuition. Until I would be interrupted by a destination that would become part of the lyric.

The way I miss the absolution of being drowned in that soft pearl light, with cool blue pouring over to set us all at rest as his voice fades away...is like when you dream and forget how to breathe.

You wake confused and a little afraid, not trusting if you’ve really found yourself in safety again or are still waiting for memory to reveal the most awful part, the lost reason you gave up breath.

Even if I forget the way, I will walk until my shoes wear through to find the road that leads back to you.