Places

Some places aren't just location or scenery. Some places are compiled of moments. One moment you're standing in place, the next moment you remember. I'm there, skipping under the snow-capped trees to the sound of my first recording. I'm there in the Toyota, pinched into place after Dan's accident. (My knee still stings on warmer days). I'm there, in a classroom full of nerds, staring at Robert Frost's impeccable use of literary devices. I'm there, smelling in Isaac's cologne, wrapped into a cocoon of blankets - his eyes greener than before. I'm there in Grade 9 gym, the smell of B.O and vanilla perfume mingle. I'm there as Mom and Jim fight, she screams and covers her bruises. I'm there half-listening to my ex-boyfriend's veganist rant. I'm there when Rachael cries on my lap. My place doesn't exist. I've never known a place as it is, as a place. Each one bares a moment, and they are never wholely good - the moments or the places. My place for now, resides and buzzes in my mind. It moves, hops over walls, breaks through darkness, pieces together ideas, and mends the pieces forever shattered. I don't think it's bad for where I am in life. Nothing is a constant. Each aspect morphs the second I become familiar. What is familiarity when everything draws out a forgotten memory? Will I ever be a part of something secure? For now I have places, every changing places. Maybe I know them better than anyone - through moment after moment. A movie of places, playing in my mind. I know them.