If I leave this city next year where would you be? In the time you spend here, I mean; reading this. I don't know, but I'm hoping you'll still visit and I'll still write everyday and we'll both know what's up. And that counts even if I don't know who you are but you've been here before. Or intend to come back.
Because I intend to come back. I don't know where I'm headed, but I know I'm coming back. Something tells me I'll stay here one more year. And something tells me its what a part of me wants. Not that there's anything much here for me. College is done. People will start leaving soon. We're all packing up and moving out. Some are switching continents some are walking to villages, and some are heading home and throwing away the keys.
I don't think I'll get through to Del this time. But if I do, what will I do without all of you? I doubt you'll know how real this is to someone who feels bad about not having named her phone before it got stolen.
There's things you can't explain. Like a city that's home at the end of each day. I wouldn't care about it if I didn't know that someday when we are beat and we stop to turn around, we'll be looking, not at a space on a map but at a place where we all were happy once. And together. And young.
"You do not know what life is,
you who hold it in your hands.."
(T. S. Eliot)
Time flies. I'm scared we'll be forty before we know it. And our children will pass each other by in the streets and not know what stories bind them. I hope that never happens.
Because look where we are now.
Missing people in this pic. Everyone's tagged. Everyone, and some more.