Journal Entry, April 11, 2023
On the gilded edge of evening, birds sing a song nearly long forgotten, and I am brought back to the very There and Then that only I have intimately known.
There where my heart is happiest, is at home. Then when yester-me watched sunsets and sunrises dazzle glitterly over the town, and believed I owned it all. There where I can be the most me. Then when I was endearingly naive.
I can still feel the sun streaming through those pines, still smell the jasmines and honeysuckles under those oaks, still see the town sprawling at my feet from when I stood atop the reservoir to take it all in.
And I absorbed every last drop of it, became my own memoir reservoir, loving and living a yesterday that etched and penned and painted and poemed the person I am today.
April 11, 2023
*written at the age of 42
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