At Last

You walk around the sunny city with a sense of foreboding. Saying to yourself this is your last swim, this is the last drink, now is the last time you'll see this view of Stockholm glittering in the water, and you don't know why you do it. It's like a drug you refuse to give up. You imagine your trip is over though it's just begun; you ride the train through picturesque countrysides and see summer grow dark and dry in its old age.

But it is not true. You have weeks yet left to revel. Countless dives in ever-warming waters. Dear friends and sweet embraces, you fit so easily back into the space they've held for you in their hearts and on those streets. Home eludes you yet again, as a mischievous specter forever out of your grasp but it grazes your cheeks often enough and softly enough to keep you chasing it. I walked past the old apartment one day and felt nothing. 

It occurs to me that home is not a place with four walls, 

a door to open and close.