Time passes. I find myself somewhere in this town -- somewhere I love, even if I've allowed myself to forget that -- and my mind can't help but drift back to five, maybe eight years earlier. To a time when it was utterly different, yet that era's fingerprints are all over this place.
Sometimes that makes me wonder where I'll be in five, eight years from now. I wonder what the terrain will be like. I wonder what will survive, and what will only survive in memory. I wonder what will be embedded in the cold white brick.
I feel like some sort of displaced native historian, some sort of refugee. I feel lonely and alone and lost and intrusive and distant and present and respectful and casual and, somehow, lost, yet at home.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.