Brutally shoved back into my old home town, I need no cushion for the blow. It comes softly, seemingly trying to sneak by unnoticed. Almost succeeding. Here I am, and it feels like I was never gone. The streets are all the same, the bars, the weather. Carefully negotiating slippery streets, and the fog that rolled in warmly earlier turns to ice crystals while I am in having a drink. The same kids stumble in and out of warm enclosures, their fashion senses impeccable but don't they seem so much younger than when I was here last? I got old, and the nights have passed without me. I forgive them; after all, did I not pass without them?
The DJ played our song and it made my soul dance. In the quiet corners of my heart I know, I have already left this place. I love this city, I love that it is still home to me, after I closed the door and left it, after I abandoned it for Brighter Lights, but the tingle in my toes does not lie: I have left, and my soul resides elsewhere.
Faces pass by in the streets, in the windows we walk by, and someone always recognizes them, but me. I remember that this was always who I was. I always tried to get lost in the crowds. Being lost is the only way I can see myself.
I think of Morton Street, I drift off to sleep, and I smile.
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