I've been in a strange sense of mind lately, a place of constant
flashbacks to my childhood.
Images, tastes,
smells...
The way the air
feels in my lungs, the way the dirt feels on my feet.
I look back, and
realize now that I've been lying to myself, and the others. I've always denied
that I was raised in Kansas, claiming my youngest years as an army brat as my
only source of who I've become.
The truth is,
Hawaii is a distant memory. One that I cling to desperately... the seashore,
and the cold, fat drops of rain... But I moved to Kansas when I was like nine
or ten, and Kansas is really where I became who I am now.
I was raised under
thunderstorms, in a crumbling capital city, against the endless amber waves of
grain. That is the ocean I am most familiar with, and the flint hills are the
sea billows on which I sail.
Childhood
desires... long hours spent daydreaming and becoming lost in my imagination.
I can honestly say
that I can picture myself living in Manhattan forever...
Yet, somehow... my
heart still lies with the sea.
End
End
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