Shrines

You mentioned, once, a trip you took in time. A childhood place where you hoped to find a long-ago laugh. Sound dissipates, and while yesterday’s waves linger in new configurations, happiness is not always waiting.

I remember this as I review the list of places I shall not—because I cannot—return. One weighs the molding impress against the promise of fresh paint and strange voices.

But you know I have a leaky memory, and it is not the crispness of then I seek, but the pieces of me I left behind: a coin, chewed gum, string from my ever-fraying sweaters.
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And the other places, where so much is invested.

What is the fear of the overly known?

I have not yet learned not to fear disappointment, and I marvel at those who have. One approaches promises with trepidation. It is only untried youth that believes “you will have so much fun,” and I have already confessed my distaste for “fun.”

One cannot anticipate fascination, nor can one predict what will become enshrined.
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You laugh at my love for street benches and brightly colored doors, my faith in the healing power of spring grass and fresh cement. And you wonder if I shall stop returning to you.

4 thoughts on “Shrines

  1. Deep – I feel sad but not sad – I wish……………

    I would find words to write of myself and not about others – One gets tired of “reporting” and “repeating” and seeks original words when really there arent any are there?

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