visitation rights
Took three weeks. Give or take. Really, who's counting.
I do feel a foreigner again. Writing is like those yesterdays, where I seldom belong. I now just seem to bounce around to my own whim, taking photos and enjoying the rare calorie. Or two. The heat, it does something wicked in these parts of southern Spain.
Spain has changed. Things really are different now. New facades and public works. Scaffolds and workers adorning all that was known. It took me days to find my old stomping grounds and what I have found and recognized have been, well, what a let down. I should have known. Suppose I did know.
Or is it, I've changed. That's it really. And the ability to revisit my past is a bit naive. A let down I've been. I suppose I'll concede as much.
I've seen some new shit, surely. And honestly, I should have know never to dictate to the road anything. No demands or preferences. Futility.
Dancing around my old buros and areas again bring me back for a moment as a young asshole. A kid again. Enjoyment. Wistful. It's all smiles. Took me three weeks but an acknowledgement that my youth is gone. Well spent, surely. But gone. Kinda' neat.
I remember why I do this. If nothing else, we see eye to eye. I find love and harmony in the road. In the unknown. I'm bound. Vulnerable. Scared. Happy. Myself. Always ready for the next round. I go places because place gives me more love and hope and smiles than I have found elsewhere. Endless possibility and beauty. Can I say as much about home?
Not yet.