Zenith of Self

One year, one month, one week, 2 days and this morning since I last stepped foot on American soil. I’m collecting my things for a visit back; going home to a home that doesn’t exist anymore. For that matter, did it ever exist? I’ve been adrift, there’s comfort here, I fear getting stuck again.

There is no going back. I’ve burned too many bridges, there is no soft landing. If I’m lucky, my momentum won’t carry me over the precipice. A thousand memories flood my mind: returnings and reunions, the release of tension, the embrace of comfort, the churning scents of places, people, things once considered…