It's an exceptionally strange feeling to be back in this town which constitutes my home. Mowing my lawn. Washing my car. It all feels different now. And so do I. My recent vacation seems like some distant dream. I haven't even been home a week yet. But it still feels like a distant dream. I can trace my finger across a map and say to myself "I was there" but somehow it doesn't feel like I was. The only evidence I have is an empty bank account, pictures and this dream in my brain.
I hope I never forget all those shooting stars I saw. The mountains I saw. The people I met. The dirt I got on my shoes and my car. The feeling of peace I had looking out at the ocean. The overwhelming scent of pine that invaded my senses when I was in that forest.
But time is cruel. And time is a thief. It takes our most intimate thoughts and memories and transforms them in pretty ghosts. And sometimes all it leaves are the most vivid memories of regret and sadness.
I hate it.
There's a meteor shower tonight. I might go somewhere quiet and dark and watch it.
And I'll think.
And maybe I'll be at peace again.
Because all I've ever wanted was to be at peace.
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