The earth knew her tread, welcoming her steps as her boots
crunched on the leaf-strewn ground. She had walked this footpath a hundred
times before. But this would be her last walk here. Soon, the earth would
wonder why she no longer walked there. And soon, it would matter no longer.
It was strange how homecoming
could feel like displacement, or how familiarity could intermingle with the
foreign.
But time would pass, and a new
familiarity would rise up to take the place of the old. A new routine would be
built on the decay of the old everydays. The scenes that she sees, the little
places she encounters, the faces she meets – with the passage of time, this
would be ripped away violently, and new sensations, new locations, new people
would seep into her mind instead. And it would be the same for the others.
She wished she could carry it all
with her, she wished to bring back something tangible to show that there is a
difference between the girl who went away and the one who came back. She would
return to the same house, with the smell of the earth she knew and loved so
well hovering so tenuously, like an ungraspable vestige of a half-forgotten
dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment