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where the heart is
two years ago I came home for christmas heartbroken. or about to be. in November I'd met a young man who electrified every nerve ending and charged every air particle and who made me rethink my previous thoughts on dealing cautiously with the opposite sex. for four weeks things were going gangbusters, and then, somehow, they weren't. I had no idea what had broken or how to fix it, and though I'd tried to keep my guard up, it had crumbled to dust somewhere in week three. defenseless, I'd sat on my old bed in my mother's house and worried the holiday away.
last year when I came home the young man was on my mind again, though I hadn't seen him for months. I wasn't surprised - I was in the same routine as the previous year after all, and routines call up memories like it's their job. I wasn't sad that year so much as wistful. still, it was distracting how much he was in my head. on the way to the mall, on the way to see friends, sitting on my old bed in my mother's house wrapping presents. thoughts of him were so prevalent, I wasn't surprised to run into him in New York a week later. at that point, it felt like fate.
coming home this year I expected a clean slate. that young man was long gone, all trace of him disappeared (from email, from friendster, from random run-ins at shows ten months ago). and my preoccupations with more recent young men were limited to the tri-state area. my childhood home was four hours away, and safe. as I got on the train I was loaded down with luggage and gifts, but, for once, I was free of baggage.
except, not. since I've been home my thoughts have been just as distracting as always, but now there is a rotating cast of characters. disappointments ancient and recent running as background static through shopping and writing and emailing friends. people I haven't thought of in years, or months, or weeks, making an unwelcome reappearance and tugging at my heart with thoughts of what if? and if only... and it's all too bad. I don't want this wistfulness this year; there's no reason for it. I want to be excited for the future and happy for the now, not caught in the loss and if only... if only... if only...
it didn't used to be like this, dragging ghosts around in my head from state to state. there used to be a refuge, sometimes.