Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
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Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Thursday, Oct. 05, 2006 @ 8:59 am
Getting A Handle

My breath clouds this morning, among the falling maple leaves. Mist hangs low in the harbour. I can see it through the trees now, from higher up the hill, the busy waters and brilliant sulfur piles. My home... You were raised in this city. I don't know why you don't like it. I do like it. I hate it.

Fall crocuses have burst out of the ground, all leggy and pale. Futility in a flower, the weak sad fall crocus.

I feel like that too, passing by unkempt gardens and crumbling concrete curbs and walls. I feel pale and weak from the pressure of the city around me, desparately trying to flourish but toppling over from the gusts from speeding passing cars.

Vancouver reminds me of an ex-boyfriend. I know exactly which one. The one that I'll always love, no matter how far away he is. The one who first held me through the night, who first showed me love and addiction, addicted to each other. The one who I couldn't bear to leave, because his friends were my friends and his family was my family. But I did leave. I learned to close my heart and my eyes and pretend that he didn't exist, because knowing that he was there to take me back ached more than loneliness.

Close my heart and my eyes.

Roots | Shoots