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Bon Appétit

A large part of my soul has lied dormant. I write for the first time in nearly a year. When did that happen? How did it fly by? Who knows. Not worth asking.

My world is now reshaped, reformed, a new place a new life, a new world. Same girl. I’m so lucky. Same dog too.

And as I walk the halls and the pathways, I run in to so many ghosts. Carmelitas, I learned today, is now Cansuelos. WTF indeed.

But the streets are unchanged. The faces so much the same.

And everywhere, ghosts.

I remember when you were just a kid, I hear as I sit down to discuss dollars and cents and the future of humanity. I was with her when she got the call, they say, right before asking for an update on operations.

Three years ago, I left. And life moved on. It moved on so well. And so terribly. For me there, and for them here. And now I’m back. And it’s as if it should have remained the same, stagnant, frozen in time. But it didn’t. And, really, I left 20 years ago. It’s another world.

Dickens should rest comfortably tonight.

It seems that we have two options in life, either to be surrounded by our histories or to be devoid of them. I’ve startled both options over the years, wading through the thick of memory and pain and joy, or frolicking through an empty expanse of possibility.

Given the choice, I choose the former.

Maybe I’m trying too hard to be profound.

Shit.

But the smells of a delicious dinner waft up to this writer’s keyboard. I’m being drugged; tainted by the comforting scents of love and giving and care and concern.

Not too bad.

So, for now, I set this hobby aside, comfortable that, 11 months later, I’ve finally found the capacity to put letters onto a laptop’s screen. Confidant that there is what to say and what to discuss.

Because though I’ve returned to the land of the care-free, there are so many cares, so many tasks, so much important work to be done. Because there’s pew. And there are pews. And there is pewter.

The ghosts, they’ll stay silent. And, frankly, they make this all that much more meaningful. And painful. But worthwhile nonetheless. And the need will keep growing, until we can fundamentally reshape the present and the future.

But dinner smells delicious. And my partner stands downstairs waiting. And that’s what really matters.

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