Is this the part where you let go?

Today marks about a month. A month of living in the United States of America again, and a month of living without the life I came to love, adore, and live comfortably and cozy in. What has come of me, I wonder? And perhaps you do too. Which is why I'll write.

There is a song I've been listening to on repeat, and it speaks of the places in which you've lived, where you've laid your head, and of holding half an acre. I think of the acre of Thailand I hold, and will always, tight in whitened knuckles.



As for my acre? My acre is green, vast, and alive. My acre is not like anything I'd ever known, but it proved as welcoming as they come. I made some friends upon this acre. Some hung my laundry, others brewed me coffee when I was low, some sold me water and milk. Some of them even watched me cry, sat with me at the edge of my bed, and later made me laugh to better tears. I made a family there, and have been lonely for them. I've been lonely for little voices who mispronounce my name. Oh, what an acre. I've wanted to know the scent of that land deeply again. To take in it's fresh and lively perfumes that offered me great energy, that changed me, grew me. Is this the part where I let go? I'm certain I can't, and won't. I'll imagine the acre in my mind. And in the mean time, I'll explore this new acre of life ahead of me. It's budding with energy, and it seems to be beckoning me. Another half an acre of Ohio will simply have to do.

Oh, the acres knitted together. What a beautiful landscape, our life!