What happens inside me when I visit a landscape of my youth?
The trees that embraced me as I cried, the water that soothed me as I dreamed.
The river bank may not remember me, but within it I keep eroding memories,
of feeling alone in what I felt,
having all the time to wonder and walk,
drowning in time,
in fantasies of the future, in anxieties of then...
Now following trails that no longer hold my teenage footprints, those adolescent emotions fade in and out of focus,
tumbling and merging with ones inside me now, leaving me to question the authenticity of the flashback.
I remember standing on top of this ridge, surrounded by rows of trees.
I remember feeling unbearably content, not wanting to walk back to my car, only hearing the sound of the river below and the sun pulsing through the forest canopy.
I remember smiling maniacally, not caring who stumbled upon me,
actually hoping someone would, so I could say:
“How’s it going?! What a beautiful day! Do you feel what I feel? Are you glowing too?”