You can smell it miles before you can see it. Sweet pollen on clean, hot summer air. Driving up the winding road in the dark, windows down, feet on the dash. Excited conversation in the back seat and mogwai in the tape deck.
These are my memories.
When I arrived all of my friends were there. We could talk all night, listening to drum and base, making up bad raps.
Snow ball fights, kissing my first boyfriend in the apple blossoms under a full moon, screaming at the sky.
My home away from home. When I needed an escape, this was it.
So many memories saturated into this place.
I went back to visit and it had all been cut down.
No more field of delicate pink flowers.
I never miss people, I miss places. My heart aches because the theatre I loved with all of my heart for five years was torched and torn down. Visiting home is visiting graves of places that were.
I hate growing older. I'm scared I'll forget.
All I can do is try to remember and keep making new memories. Remember it for what it was.
The giant orchard filled with fruit is now a stump filled field with a shack in the middle. Maybe it can still be a get away house.”
IPOD
RADIO
Lotus
SUICIDEGIRL
Ontario, Canada
MAR 24, 2006 03:00 PM