beautiful childhood memories made tangible through the visiting of places of old. brushing through all the cobwebs and musty places in the attic of my mind in tandem with the solid feel of brick under my feet. it's a wonderful feeling of homecoming, as if nothing else matters just so long as this place of confirmation, confirmation that i do exist, exists. it's almost like a base, for me to find my feet again, a reminder of who i really am. that girl who hadn't a care in the world as she ran in the dusk, laughing over the joy of the chase. and i like the fact that this place of my early childhood still exists, in reality and in my memory. because it feels like i have not deviated much. the central isn't a foreign land. it is where i was born, where my roots are. i am not exploring, i am rediscovering. and it is a reassuring feeling that whatever had seemed so strange really is what i am. all i really did was come full circle. and i like that.