forgetting, and so on

"Winter kept us warm, covering earth in forgetful snow." -T.S. Eliot

I fall into familiarity so easily when I come back to Pennsylvania, driving with ease past what was once Sweet Daddy's, where I nursed broken hearts in sixth grade, past the Gryphon Cafe, where I I would write and write and write and down overrated biscotti while Louis Armstrong and Ella played in the background, to Valley Forge, where I spent a countless number of sleepless nights wondering what exactly I was doing with my life. And then the sun would rise, there in Valley Forge National Park, and dandelions would tickle my nose and everything smelled like freshly picked apples and caramel and I would watch the world erupt into life.

People ask why I want to leave the east coast when everything here is so beautiful and easy. When my family is here and so many friends and my childhood. And that is exactly why - it knocks the wind out of me, the constant remembering. I drive by the playground where I grew up pitching in softball games and drinking beer in high school, with most of that time spent with someone who is no longer here and never will be and I still, years and years after her death, can't wrap my mind around that. My heart has been broken and put back together one too many times here and I worry sometime, late late at night when the last of the fireflies have died and it's so cold that it hurts to breathe, that my heart will finally just give in.