The Old Neighborhood

We stretch out over the intercoastal. I rush to lift the shade, my eyes well, my throat clenches, and the guy next to me continues to drum to the beats in his headphones. It could be the surprise first-class free wine or the fact that I thought I would never come back. But now as I coast thousands of miles over my old home I am at a loss for why the emotion is sad, is regret. Could it be that this time I am alone? That so much of this old life here was a we and now it’s just me, experiencing life alone. I regress back to lessons in loneliness; I retrace the memories we made here and rushed away from. Do I call out you? Do I tell you “here I am? Here I am!” Only to make you feel worse, feel just as sad but still alone on our new/old coast. I didn’t mean to leave you hurt and I didn’t mean to follow you here. But here I am back on this lovely turquoise waterway filled peninsula, alone and I want more than ever to call to you and remind you of the beauty here and beauty that once was between us, ironically before we ever got here. I’m sorry my old love I’m looking for new experiences in our old neighborhood and only finding bittersweet reminders.