I know nobody read this, but for my own sake I wanted to write in here one last time...maybe find closure, but it is hard to come by. One year ago I was buried in clothes and travel gear frantically packing my life into a suitcase to travel across the UK for three months. All of it still rests fresh in my mind and there rarely has been a day that has passed that I haven't wanted to go back. IU know the past can't be repeated, that's impossible. If anything I wish I could cement it in my mind, carve it into my frontal lobe so it will stay there always. I can revist it like wordsworth revisted tintern abbey on the streets of London. In the suburbs of Minneapolis I'll travel back to the fells of the lake district, or the highlands of scotland, the green pastures and sheep-spotted hills of ireland, the crowded tube stations, the bricked streets of stratford, or the cliffed coasts of southern england- back to the beaches of battisborough in my wool sweater, cup of tea and hobnob in hand.
I'll make it back there someday, if only in memory.