hometowns have a thousand little ghosts pushing through the pavement that trip you up wherever you go how are we meant to live like that
on my way out of my hometown i’m torn between: “i have too many ghosts here” and “i don’t have enough ghosts anywhere else”.. a haunting doesn’t always have to be bad. it can be a light in my childhood best friend’s window after she moved away seven years ago.. it can be the smell of lilacs in spring that just don’t smell the same in another state.. it can be seeing an old classmate’s parent in line at the grocery store and being given a hug. there are small joys in tripping over my ghosts. sometimes the ghosts love me as much as they hate me.. but either way they’re proof i’ve lived. i managed to leave a fingerprint on the world here. small as it might be..
