i still go out by the old house

I pretend I don't love it here. I get antsy sometimes and talk big shit about moving. Packing up my bags, I'll say. I'll say, Going out west. And you know what, in those moments I really want to be knee deep in red soil and ancient spirits. But right now, this is a beautiful place to be.

I can't hide it, really. You know those small moments that peep around the corner, shyly, like the new girl coming into math class? Like, the sun crashing it's way past my house and onto the neighbors big bay window. That's a shy moment that makes me want to sing. Or sitting quietly on the porch. Or knowing my neighbor next door will inevitably talk to me about salvation and amazing grace. Though I don't like that chatter, per se, I like that I know he'll slip it in whenever he can. Praise the lord.

Consistency. My white haired neighbor walking her cat, Pete. The man who lives in apartment 2 listening to The Morning Show so loudly about every other day. My pink perfume catching the sun in the bathroom window. The apple tree in the back yard doing it's thing, making me all romantic for the seasons. These are the things I can't yet sacrifice to the god of maybe-i-can-have-a-better-life-somewhere-else. And it's fine, you know? That's just what I have to tell myself. It's okay to pine for something else, or bigger, or redder, or just different -- but what's not okay is giving up amazing.

I mostly am in love with this, the here and now. I might moan about this thing or another thing, but I've nested in this town. And this town has grown comfortable with me, too.