for the Wear

The valley lay swathed in sheets of pink, peach, twinkling stars. I drove through the city that was my home as the sun set, and all that remained was a sea of street lights and white mountains against the dark night. Twenty years I've known that valley, seen sunrises, sunsets. Before it was even mine, I lay in a house at the mountain bench and stared a jet lagged gaze over it. For years, missing it tore great holes in me, even while living in its cradle.

Now I come and go seamlessly; I barely budge. Years of arriving and leaving have softened the blow, have desensitized my nerves. Parting is still such sweet sorrow, I leave such dear people in the house, it still stings and I imagine it always will. But looking over that valley, too much scar tissue lines my heart, too many tears have already been shed over it, I feel nothing now.

The problem is,
the same can be said for anything.

I feel nothing,
now.