Nostalgia Revisted (Dulce Domum)

19 05 2008

At the height of my selfishness sits my desire for home. I have been acutely aware of a yearning to run through my town, to see what I might never have bothered to look at and to store up every part of Los Osos in my memory so that it will live on until I die. (Or until we get a sewer)

It seems pretty straightforward: on the verge of leaving the last bastion of familiarity in my lifetime, I have now come face-to-face with adulthood, and my answer is to run home and hide under the bed (more accurately, on the floor next to my bed, with the shades halfway drawn as the sunlight streams in upon me, a book and a half-eaten carrot).

I love it.

I relish the fact that I will never have years like those again because it means I will always remember what they were like. No reading spot (save, perhaps, some heretofore undiscovered place on Britain’s coast) shall ever approach that bench by the bay. No bike ride will ever be as anticipated as those trips to the Baywood Market, buying Tart N’ Tinys before heading off to my secret sand dune. What evening constituional would ever dare to compare itself with walking to Round Table and blowing $5 on Metal Slug and hardware store licorice with John for the twentieth time?

What these memories are starting to mean to me now, however, is simple.

The best is yet to come.

But it will never be quite as “best” as ten years ago. And that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be.

Song of the Week: The New Year, Death Cab for Cutie

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