Dear Journal, From the Man who Crossed the River

I burned bridges as I fled the city
the city I've called my own
and though there were no towns for miles
I had yet to feel alone
Not until I returned back to the banks
of the river that framed that place
did I miss her citizens' friendly presence
or her welcoming embrace

So I swam across the surging stream
To try and ground myself
and though the waters pushed me back
It was only I that paused, thinking perhaps
that it would be better to drown with the dream
than have to give up what I thought I had lacked

But I Swam.

Upon arriving, it felt so strange
gone were the people I knew
I got strange looks
from stranger-folk
and I had not a clue what to do
I decided at once to leave this place
This place once comfortable
now nauseating
but they all begged me to stay

So I drank with them as though they were friends
and I dined with them like family
and I told them stories of my life away
and how I wanted so badly to live in this place
(This place that was so foreign to me)
And I made all sorts of promises I couldn't keep.

I packed my bags
I unpacked my bags
I packed my bags
I unpack.

and then after much consideration and tears
it came that I would leave at dawn
and upon wading across the next day
I knew that my home was now gone


The water seeps into my clothes
and chills me to my core
There is a place inside that feels the coldest
and knows that I'll never be home again
'If only I hadn't left,' I say, 'if only I hadn't dreamt'
'If only I could take it back, some way, if only I could settle again'

but as the day goes on with my back to that river
I accept that I cannot return
for that city is not the home I once new
I am a stranger to the people there
and they are no longer my neighbors

I hold my map
and my compass points to the emptiest horizon
and I weep for the city that was once mine
and I only left last week.

Perhaps one day I can return there
to visit

Perhaps.