The fuzz.

Digging down through the layers of what used to be. So many hoops. Such a goddamn circus. Chasing one thing and leaving another behind. Memories burn, but the place is someone else’s reality now.

Restless people leave a path. A trail of impressions. Smiles and farewells. You don’t always feel different—but everything has changed.

Grandpa still smiles in pictures but he’s long gone.

And all the girls I’ve loved before love someone else tonight. But I still feel it all. I remember the music that was playing. The smell in the air. The context and the underlying complexity.

Life reinvents itself as it should. We make messes of things. We have good intentions and bad ideas simultaneously. Contradictions packed in confirmations. So we push. And morph. And make new plans that would surprise our old ideas. That send previous selves into tailspins.

My talent is recognizing that I have very little. My area of expertise is being an amateur. My specialty if floating from one experience to the next yearning for something just out of reach. But so close.

Today I live in place I barely knew two years ago. Where entire streets bring back good memories. And steep corners take me to emotional roller coaster realities that have faded into the fuzz.

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