Stale Fact

Dear reader, I haven’t much to write about apart from the stale fact that I’m sad.

I cannot bring myself to unpack bags.
I cannot be alone with myself long enough.
I just walk.

I have been taking long walks around the town where I grew up; up and down the streets that took me to school, around corners where my friends lived, past fields where I used to tie pieces of grass together. I just walk.

Nothing changes here. I’ve passed the same house, with the same bright, blonde children playing in the yard, for years. Laura and Jordan–they call each other’s names.

This morning I went to the same beach, sat on the same bench, and thought about the same dream. Here, I talked to a friend about expectations.

What Should I Do?

I think you should go West.

To the Grand Canyon?

To the Grand Canyon.

What if it isn’t what I imagine?

To this she said:

I think it’s probably the one thing that is.