Re-entry

The days ran quickly, not like sand between my fingers but more like strange dreams and you wake up in a daze. Suddenly it was seven a.m. on a Sunday morning in New York, and it took me a while to orient myself. Realize that I had passed out the night before but still managed to turn off the computer and the television in blissful ignorance. See the sunlight stream in through my window and realize how hot I was, what that felt like.

I had spent so many days shivering, lately.

So much has happened, and I had little time to digest, to put it into words. Mad runnings around the city, navigating through the messes of my interior and the orderly mazes of those around me. New impressions, old reminders. Drifting back into the person I was and lost a little, in the jaded streets of New York. It was nice to see her again. I visited family and saw the building blocks of my own life, but cried behind closed doors anyways for lives wasted and words unspoken. How much in a life can be sad, when it should be overwhelmingly sweet. I ran through woods I have seen since childhood for the last time and tried to remember every leaf, the silence, the beauty of Nature. I turned 28, impossibly, and made sure to leave a great mess in the wake of my departure. Two hours of sleep later, I sat at the airport with a toothache and wasn't sure if I'd remembered to pack my passport.

The trip seems to have lasted months. But it seems to be months since I was there. A world away. I stepped into the shower this morning and it smelled of America. Of cucumber body wash and toxic cleaning solutions. The air stopped being so silent. I met dear friends for breakfast and wasn't sure how I could've ever doubted that this was where I belong.

Your kisses were so sweet. But this city sings me to sleep, now.