I was hiking down the small Alpine mount I had found (Hohrungen, 733 m, do not fret, Interlaken is like 570 m) when I realized I am homesick. It is only a mild case, but it goes a long way in explaining all the dreams and nostalgia I have been having. I get ecstatic thinking about camp and people and things and events. I smile when Emma’s face dances across the canvas of my mind. I spend train rides composing letters to Steph and Maren. I try and think of new and impressive witty things so Tessa will heart me. I send postcards that make no sense to Kelsey. I include Renee’s name in deadjournal entries in case she is reading this. Smoking Seths on street corners take up dreamscape. Clint’s head rolls across my nostalgia meter during a certain Magnetic Fields song. I see German Moles and giggle. R. and Maria (and their german poet friend Rilke) haunt my experiences.
I love Europe, but I want to go home because sitting in the Alps and doing nothing but think of it is getting ricockulous.
To anyone forgotten, I send you love as well because I am sure I have been thinking of you otherwise.
aaaaack