It has been a real treat to be home. It's been amazing to see old friends, visit with new ones, and rediscover my old haunts around town. I've taken to running to the public beach two towns over and sitting in the sand for a while watching the waves and people chase their toddlers up and down the beach playing chicken with the waves. It's wonderful to be home but I'm finding something haunting about it that I have yet to shake.
When a relationship ends, sympathetic spectators are quick to pat you on the back and tell you how glad they are that you've learned something from the experience. While I frequently arm myself with such convictions, I've been thinking of late how tired I am of feeling like the very beach upon which I rest my sneakers.
Family, friends, lovers, strangers, and trespassers alike have left traces of themselves in the form of sandcastles, doodles, and the occasional trail of footprints passing through. There are memories I like to sit with once in a while and soak in their warmth through remembrance. It's never much but it's enough to keep me going so long as I don't dwell in them for too long. Being back here--being home--keeps me close to the company of ghosts I keep and these memories with which I like to sit once in a while have been in my mind from the first morning stretch to when I close my eyes at night. They're at their worst when I'm out for a run.
It seems strange to be haunted by happy memories but this nagging fear in the pit of my stomach suggests crimes of more than missing, wishing, and remembering.
It is also completely unhelpful that City and Colour's "Confessions" has been stuck in my head for days on end. I will shake this.
A 20-something's exploration of life, love, the pursuit of happiness, and art.
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