i wasn't really there. uh, well.. ya. i wasn't really there. when you say it it sounds so different than when i say it. i i wasn't really there. i was always moving away. i was always moving upwards, moving outwards. i was on skates. i was riding a bike. i was on an escalator. leaving. always in the process of leaving. you were never really ready to leave.
i have never left this place. sitting on the front stoop looking through grass and scrub out over escarpment framed by ashen skies soundtracked by a roiling lake ontario. i have never left this place. feeling the roughened cliff top grasses perched imperiously over temperamental waters. i have never left this place. entreating the sparse indifferent cirrus wisps passing over flitting cliff swallows- where do they go during dark seasons? i have never left this place. and i wonder when memories like this fall away, where do they land? i have never left this place. still, messages from the person i left behind float to shore.