One Year
It’s been one year since we left at a golden hour in Boston, and arrived at another on the other side of the ocean. I know exactly what I wore that morning to hug my mother and ten hours later in the same cotton I bought peaches many, many miles away from her. Then the year goes by slowly, quickly, thoroughly. I form an accent and I learn that there are a whole lot of places and things to see. I am fed so much happiness in Warsaw that my stomach explodes and it showers down on everyone around me. And then, there’s something named grief that occurs at the end. Defined as “deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death,” the death is an adored home. At first, coming back provided relaxation. Smiling because I was in my own bed and I could see the ocean in summer light and familiar faces around the block again. I had breathing room in my room. The world was just as I had left it. But, soon enough, I found myself subconsciously making up excuses to buy subway ticket