I wish that I could remember the sound of his voice.
I wish that that day, I had been calmer, and paid more attention.
But more than anything I wish I had been more beautiful, more remarkable, more interesting.. perhaps now I have been totally forgotten. Such a thing should not be totally surprising to me, and now I record here my certain melancholy of distance.
"I want to go home", I always used to say -- sitting alone in the corner of 'my' room in my parents' house. I was so young when I said this, before I knew how idiotic it was, but the feeling was so incredibly strong. I was probably about nine years old? It kept on until I was fourteen, and I realized that no matter what, the feeling I was chasing was not here.
After seven long years of pining for a particular place, I finally got to visit. But it wasn't until the second time, in a much more vibrant city, did I finally find the feeling I'd long been searching for. Finally, I was home.
And now I'm lost again, waiting for the day. Waiting for the day I can return home. And maybe this time, I can make good on the promises I've made to myself.
