When They Say
I love my town late at night. I close my eyes and know the cracks in the pavement and the blink of neon like I never had trouble memorizing anything before. The experiences that make up who I am are flashes, I see them all the time. The places I grew up leave traces in my body, like light trails on the back of my eyelids. They are blurry, soft-spoken, inarticulate unless you know the language like I do. I am still figuring out how it is that I can desperately love something and hate what it does to me at the same time, how I can find something so beautiful that it hurts me. The allure of the glow leads me to these lights and makes it that much harder to let them go. These memories drag me home, to the place where it all began, again and again.