Down Memory Lane

Even though sometimes it’s one of the toughest things to walk through the door and out onto a neighborhood the streets of which I’ve fallen on so many times.

As I put on my sneakers and open the door, I can’t help but stop and ask myself about the arrangement of everything at home: that is, if I’m okay with leaving everything as it is, if for whatever reason I don’t get to make it back in time…

When I think about it for longer than a moment, I can’t help but want to hold onto my home and forget about the world outside, resolving to stay in because the greater experience will surely be found somewhere inside anyway.

But then I think to myself that I can’t see things this way when everything and everyone is out there: when my mother and brother and all of my friends and and loved ones are…out there.

It’s just that sometimes being at home is so familiar, and that sometimes being at home alone is even more familiar than being at home with friends and family, or being out with them, for that matter.

Maybe it’s just the vastness of the self after all, broken up into a million scattered seconds, at one moment telling me to get out there and fall to keep going all over again, and at another moment telling me to stick to what I know, because things are just safer that way…

Somewhere through it all, the former gets a step ahead of the latter, and before I know what’s happening I find myself outside, walking through the village again.

And as I look out into the streets, I remark at how long it’s been, even if it’s only been a few days. The thing is, every time I see the streets again, they’re filled with new life; with new people, new possibilities, and therefore new dreams.

Unable to control the emotions this uproots in me, I can’t help but dream with the streets: of capturing all their life and loss and gorgeousness and making them shine bright enough to give them a place among the stars in a city which can always use more of them.

I see, then, how I have to keep walking through the neighborhood, because it is the village. And because every time I fall in it, I can get up knowing that its streets and I are there for each other, that we were made for each other, and that we rise and fall only to complete one another. Somehow, I believe it.

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