on the day

I'm sitting in the bathroom, thinking. It's a great place to think. Sound echoes off the tile and supplies sit at the ready. It's the last stop before bedtime and the day is done.

Today, this day six years hence-- for the first time I feel nothing. I thought about dredging up the memories, the details I won't ever forget, and inserting myself directly back in time in my mind. It's all available for recall, as I've done many times. Today I decided not to. I didn't even feel guilty seeing the various commemorative events on tv (at the gym. I went for the first time in two years).

All I felt was surprise at seeing the weather in New York-- rain. Because here in Portland, it was beautiful, majestic. The very blue sky I saw six years ago in New York. The same smell of promise in the air. Not quite the same, but almost, the feelings of hope in my heart and travellust in my veins. I've heard that every seven years the body completely rebuilds itself, but maybe sometimes if you push hard enough it can take only six.

That home I once found for only a week-- it has been here for technically five years now. For today, at least, that is enough.