Letter

Amy Jirek, May 29, 2007

I left in January and head back east, happily because
I was tired of being alone. There. And while it was only
one week, it was a bad week, a long week. I missed home
but I wasn’t going back there. It felt too much like vacation
now and I just didn’t belong in that town anymore at twenty-one. Twenty-one,
my dad thinks it’s still young. I think that it’s five years past turning sixteen
that seemed to happen in five minutes. But that’s beside the point. I miss you.
I left too quickly and for the week I was there I was almost
someone else. I didn’t want it to be that way.
Too late. The next days were long and I continued to analyze again
and again what might have been. But what a waste
of time. Every morning I still smell the rustic scent—that mixture
of sweat and cologne and saltwater. I miss the weather too—
but who cares. Everyone misses the weather. But I see tshirts
sometimes, and street signs, faded jeans and thunderstorms,
and I hear songs and voices—and sometimes even
half- familiar laughs and for a small part of a second
I feel like you’re here

Comments

[Stephanie]

Amazing work! Congrats Amy!
Stephanie