From the Shore

I’ve always been the one waving the white handkerchief from the shore. Wishing my friends well on their way, on their grand adventures. I never really needed that excitement for myself. I craved structure and stability, deep ground to grasp on to. I’ve never lived more than a few miles from where I was born. These neighborhoods are haunted with memories and are familiar as family. They are comfortable, I can trust their streets to carry my weight. Here I am grounded. Here is home. But it never ceases to be sore, being the one who remains behind. Having to say goodbye to friends old and new, missing them and feeling the empty space they used to occupy. A part of me is envious of their freedom.; this city is a vortex that holds me firmly in its heart. But while it holds me here, in this tiniest sliver of the world, it also gives me comfort. Within its confines it gives me the space to breathe, a place to explore the more mundane but no less lovely and arduous adventures of life. So I continue to watch my friends from the shore, misty-eyed but full of love, grateful that they ever shared my space at all.