when you return

when you return to a place you have been before, a place you have lived before, and the paths and the lamposts and the sand are the same (the latter perhaps a bit shifted, but palpably the same under and into sandal), it takes time – not for you, i think, but for your brain, for your brain!, to come around to the present moment. because you are seeing a carbon copy of a reality, a transparency, really. this place, any place, is just that: a transparency – just one layer of structural components which is bound and loosed from innumerable layers of people and intention and feeling and experience and heart and stars and smoke and sensation and drink and kiss and tears and cats and goddamn, godblessed living. right. so, here we are then. glance up at the path again and again. and each time, it makes a little more sense that it is empty, quiet, missing south african accent, young american machismo, russian curses, someone’s dog loose and running, a way home.
 
the ghost came to visit the first night. we looked into each other’s vibrating selves, each other’s lights, each other’s as-though-eyes, but it was dark. it woke me, clanging the door. i wanted to ask, “is someone there?” but didn’t want to wake my sleeping roommate. this wasn’t the first time. we separate ourselves from ourselves so that we can see what we look like from over there while our mind is still getting to us in whatever Now is. got your watch on?
 
and this tree is longer in the curving branch. and these benches were not here before. and the sunset and i exchange a whole new set of words. and slowly, slowly, i arrive. i check the time. i check the time. i arrive wherever I am; I arrive to Now again and again. and the path is not empty of who once stood, smoking and laughing there, but present with its quiet and its cool dark this evening. and neither are lost. both are here; me, too.
sunset_revivim
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About scribblelip

walking down the road with a book of conjugations in my hand.
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