I Love You

No, sorry. I wasn't going to post about my non-existent boyfriend (though I maintain that his name has to be Willie, because I love folk music so much). Instead, I am posting a post that is written to my home. The place I will leave sometime after nine in the morning tomorrow, June 30th. The home that has gone from strange, to ugly, to mine. You, of course, are invited on the ride.

I love you. I first came here and I thought you were strange. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. People were interested in me. That was mostly good. But my home was so empty, and the hills...well, the hills are another story.

I loved the hills, even when I fell in that soupy mud, even when I became footsore and weary. Hikes in my backyard--I was amazed! I had people who wanted to talk to me out of curiosity, and I had fun "climbing the mountain".

Oh, there was a time when I hated all of that. I wanted to be me again, not the strange person that I had become. I wanted to go home where it was green, not brown. I wanted to go home where everything was. What was worse, my new friend, a girl so much like me, was exulting in your brown ugliness.

And then I left. For a two-month visit "home". I loved every minute of it and wanted to stay. I turned my back on you, hated land. But I dutifully stepped on the plane bound towards you, turned on the Disney Movies, and waited for another year of hate.

I stepped off the plane to meet my friends, girls younger than I. Suddenly, I saw familiar hills, familiar places, and I knew that I was home again.

Chattering in the back of the truck, I saw a future opening up in front of me. Art lessons with my friend! Playtimes in the shadow of the mountain! Maybe I'd even see Sharon, the girl I had made friends with the last year.

My future was as glorious as expected for three months. Art lessons in the cozy schoolroom with Anna and a nice teacher. I found myself playing with her often when our sisters had karate. Sharon was there and a dearer friend than ever. The hills beamed.

Christmas came again, the happiest Christmas of my life. A friend of ours received a wondrous gift that year, and the happiness in my heart easily multiplied as the day grew happier and happier. I knew where home was then. I never wanted to leave you.

But, after Christmas, things went bad again. Anna moved away. Sharon disappeared. My other friend and I sort of lost touch. But you were there, a fluid, always changing, yet always the same place. I love you. I never wanted to leave.

Now, tomorrow, I will leave you, perhaps forever. The tears spring to my eyes as I say this. You're crying, too. I felt the rain on my face as I walked home today. I wish I could stay forever. Yet, as I say that I am loath to leave, my actions belie my words. Perhaps my tears are enough. I cannot cry on command.

Fare you well. I love you. I will come back if I can. Promise.

"'Farewell!' was the cry of my heart as I left him. Despair added, 'Farewell, for ever!'"--Jane Eyre, Vol. III. My favorite book. And it says it all.