empty, save for me

i suppose it could be said that i'm a sentimental person. not so much about orthodox things, such as trinkets or favors, but about things such as smells or the way someone might look while gazing through rain streaked windows. i suppose it is the beauty in the relatively mundane that interests me. i find my self quite often just thinking about how something may look; the lonely way a cardigan might be sagging over the side of a chair, or possibly the last little bud on a peony bush that is about to bloom when all the rest have already had their day in the sun, and now droop toward the ground preparing to die.

the way in which i remember things is quite often with very precise detail. i remember the feel of wood underneath my toes as i climbed the book case to see out the window when i was 4. i remember the fading light in my grandparents sunroom that we spent so much time in during visits. i remember the specific smell of a crate of old books bought at a garage sale. it's about these sorts of things that i'm sentimental.

i remember walking through denver station a few years ago, it was deserted except for my friend and me, and i could see the light traced through the air on tiny particles of dust. this is one of my most sentimental affections, along with almost all empty places, they, in an odd way, possess a quality in their vancancy that is something magical .

although i love my family and friends, and spending time with them- investing time into them- and being a part of each other's lives is very rewarding, there is a part of me that will always yearn for the lonely solitude of empty places. maybe it's because i'm so keenly aware of exactly how empty it really is not. whether it's a deserted train station, obscure bookstore, or a secluded forest, there are always things to be seen. and for me, all too often, people just get in the way. although going about an expedition with someone has its place, where saftey is concerned for one, there are often times that you look for what you think that person wants to see, what they might be looking at or for, or possibly you're altogether enamored with them and see nothing but their face regardless.

when alone, there is no pretense, there is no expectation, there is no sharing. there isn't some sense of "oh i must tell them too look too!" or possibly, especially amongst children, "i saw it first!". each experience, new, old, or deja vu, is experienced in its purest form, solely within oneself, being weighed and measured without outside influence. a lichen covered rock can become a beautiful thing, it's own miracle, without the threat of someone else convincing you it's just 'a dirty rock'.

there is something very liberating about being alone, seeing things, the world, without peer pressure, and deciding for your self what you think of it. for me the opportunities for alone time within empty places are few and far between. it is not without a certain degree of sadness that i even think about them. wanting to go and see something, whether for the first time or other wise, and really see it. seeing it through my own eyes, untainted by having to share the experience with someone else.

the Greek word for "return" is nostos and algos means "suffering." so nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. this is the only way to accurately describe my feeling for these places. i actually suffer in their abscense, and do yearn to go back. whether to explore a cave, a shack, or and old book. so when time allows, and my kids can afford, you will not find me here, for i will be off in a place empty, save for me.