Past “Me”s

You know where I woke up today?

The West Coast, United States.

 The place where I really learned to drive, where I worked and started to be an adult as I barely slid into my teens, the place where I fell in love, or so I thought, with a young boy who was much to immature and unready for any type of relationship, the place where I had my first bonfire at a beach, a smore! 

Where I sang anonymously in the dark and where I felt I had nothing to do but live and be happy for it. 

Where I met the man who truly should have been my father and where I then was told he passed. 
Where I learned to be young again and to drive and drive and sing at the top of my lungs, where I had friends, a home, my own room albeit another foldout bed situation, where I took care of everyone else and where I could be counted upon to show up, take you there and pick you back up. Where I cooked, cleaned, worked and studied at my church. 
Where I could pretend I belonged to a family and forget that even they couldn’t really deal with me. Where I learned to detach myself from emotions and where I stopped thinking deep. Where I disconnected from myself and enjoyed a surface life, a life where it was easy to be simple and not wonder if there was more, although more was certainly coming. 

I was so young and different when I last lived here and this morning at half past 6, it smells just the same as last November, exactly 10 years ago and I want to tell myself that I am happy, that I can live like that again, that even if I changed, even if this is not the same cold, crisp, cutting oxygen into my warm, moist and expanding lungs and this is not 10 years ago, or even 3 years ago in a harsh NY winter, or 2 in a hot humid December or this year across the world on an island with winds you’ve never even heard of. 

No, today is none of those days, and I am none of those past “me”s.
But perhaps, if I clear my mind, if I think of no past, no present, no future and focus on the coldness of the room, the bright light of early morning and think of nothing more, perhaps I could be happy.

I and I think that would be a fine first step. 

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