A long-planned move hits harder and
slower than a quick pain in anywhere else.
It's a shove shoved into you, by yourself,
knocking over the shelves whose tomes
are requiems to who the days have been.
Sure, the terrain. Yes, the food. And of course,
coffee and its sunlit holes. But it's the circle
of friends and families, the soon gone polygons,
that melt solid dreams back to dust. And dust,
while a building material, needs more than
one season of watering to become a newly
fertile place. It's patient, like gardening at the
edge of the desert. And you will not forget
how lush this forest was.
Roman Ryan 