bittersweet return

It wasn't perdition. Nor was it divine. It mixed the two something like T did on Friday night, leaving me wide-eyed and gazing, losing myself into a space, the space breaking me into a different sense. An old one. A familiar one that you can't ever forget no matter how hard you may sometimes try. One that creates the fantastic and the fanatic. One written about more than stars in an ebony sky.
Returning home was good. It reinforced many of the things I've thought and felt. This place, these loud subways and streetmeat vendors, isn't home. It can't be. I won't have it.
I arrived home and readjusted. Clocks slowed to Yeah Yeah Yeah's time. Five plus minutes to say what could be uttering in less than one. The haunting reverberations remind me of reality. The one I want.
A place isn't just spatial. It lives with the breaths of those who share it. Each step taken is done in their footprints. Each noise an echo of the past. As such, one can never be alone unless everything that precedes you is alone. Anonymous. Scowling. Cold. No eye contact.
Returning, the people I love make the place. Even those I don't know, smiling arm in arm, dressed in costume, holding king cans amidst closed hands, the place colouring their lives, make me right. T knows it as la joie de vivre. I've lost it here, gone somewhere above the clouds or beneath the sewers, somewhere I can't go to find it. A place I don't want to find.