On Separation

It begins as it continues as it ends

It’s a street sign that looks different. A shop sign that’s changed. The renovations have been redone. There’s construction lining blocks upon blocks that warble your senses of direction. 

And you come back, and you come back, and you come back 

And suddenly, it’s not your city anymore 

But you don’t think on this, as you arrive. You don’t think of what has changed and what is no longer there
Because you’re being questioned in a customs line
You’re being told these things flat out.


And if this isn’t your home, where do you go?
Because there isn’t here. It never will be, it doesn’t want to be. You don’t want it to be.

And maybe it’s not so much that you’re missing your home, as that home no longer exists.
It was a fleeting moment in time you can not go back to


Really, would you want to? To forget everything you have learned, everything you have done, and go back to the person you were yesterday?
Just think of what your bar tab would look like.


And you can long for what is gone, but maybe
You should not dwell on the feeling of your heart split in two
But rather,

Can you extend your heart to somewhere new? Can you love what this has become, and what that is now?

And one day, can you wake up when you arrive where you are going and say
This is now mine, too.

It doesn’t have to be today.

But someday

Maybe.

On A Red Brick Street

I’m sitting in the bakery.

This bakery, that I haven’t been to in almost a decade. With Douglas Adams trivia on the chalkboard, and cupcakes the size of my face.

It sits on a street paved with red bricks, a reminder of an earlier era, with little boutiques and shops and another cupcake place down the street.

It’s a beautiful place, the water right nearby, the air clean, the buildings so beautiful. It’s a place that screams of money, but with a vibrant energy that only those who are younger can bring.

And I think to myself, maybe it won’t be that different.

But, of course it is.

There is no longer trivia on the board, there is a sign boasting its lack of wifi, there is coffee served in the back and cookies line shelves in the front. There is still a place to sit, and the cupcakes are still there.

And I can’t help but think, you might’ve been here.

To see it.

To see it change.

To see it become what it is now.

Because it is a moment, if only briefly, of, this could have been your life.

And it’s not sadness, or regret, necessarily. It’s more of a wistful nostalgia.

For that moment, when you chose this instead of that. Turned left instead of right. Because where you are now is not where you thought you’d be, not where you a decade ago had planned.

Just like the walls of this place, you have changed.

Maybe, in another life, I walked along these streets again. I lived this. I came here, stayed here. And maybe I walked with friends, or a partner, who would laugh as frosting covered my nose. Maybe I’d do different work, sitting at this very stool.

But I probably would not be drinking milk in my tea.

And, again, it’s not regret.

It’s a wondering, about the life I almost chose.

And who’s to say which one is better, or worse.

It just is. A sign that we don’t always get the answers to the questions on our minds.

So, I will take this box of cake to the home I now have.

Say goodbye to those here.

And carry on, as any other day.