August 6th

2:04pm

Beads of sweat condense and appear on my brow, glistening in the effervescence, fluorescent lights above. The droplets of water trickle my hair follicles down past my brows and descend upon pages of The Sun Also Rises. Its tan-colored pages absorb the moisture and leave remnants of discolored spots on previous chapters. I cannot remember the last time; such a degree of perspiration was displayed upon me.

Minutes are perceived in the quantification of forever, a monotonous stretch of perpetual time and banal boredom.

Is this really happening?

My left foot is found wrapping, conjecturing volumes of noise. When did I learn to create drumbeats? The harmony of my music would be perceived as a distraction. I most certainly am I distracted. Though I would much rather be discreet about what is occupying my mind.

What have I gotten myself into?

I feel a throbbing pain in my eyes. The sort of pain, which resembles the feeling of sand under the eyelid. Scratchy and gritty it slowly descends down my iris. It is then I am aware. I am blinking. The duration between each opening and closing gradually becomes minuscule. To look upon these elements, one could decipher, there is a problem. Maybe it is time to admit to myself, there is a problem.

Why am I so afraid to go back home?

::Author's Note::

Ten days ago, my fiancé and I went on an excursion to visit family and friends in our perspective homes, West Texas and Southern Michigan. For both of us, it was an opportunity to one to introduce the other to those closest friends and family.

What happened for me, on the other, hand was a lingering feeling, an uneasiness, to revisit my hometown of twenty-five years. I had been back only once before this engagement, in January; it was met with mixed emotions and a daunting feeling to flee. It was a realization, I came to when I left eight months ago, that I had changed. I matured and was in a different stage of life. My hometown did not feel like home anymore. It did not feel like a pair of well-worn shoes or my favorite sweatshirt. It felt old and odd. I did not seem to fit into the puzzle as I once did.

It left me feeling remorse and frustration. I felt I could fall back into place. Despite my attempts, it only solidified the epiphany, I was not home anymore. I was called somewhere else. I had to come to grips with the reality. And it hurt.

These exerts of prose are my attempt to explain my return back home and the health it brought me upon my return. Without giving away the ending, my return was healthy and joyous.