In The Direction of America

Home is beginning to seem intangible. As if it never really existed. I am trying desperately to keep in touch with people and yet I become more and more estranged every day, seemingly soon only to exist in stories or gossip. I am fading into European life and part of me is terrified I am going to disappear. Life is going on without me, and when I return things aren't going to be the same. (A concept that takes some getting used to.) My version of reality right now is a sharp deviation from the American norm. I'm living in a temporary world. Liminality. Once upon a time there was someone writing songs about me, but now I'm just a memory. A college fling. A song on an external hard drive that no one ever listens to. Some invisible entity across an ocean. 

Time is intersecting highways and I can't always tell if I'm heading the right way.