I've left Ireland behind me and moved on to Vienna. The grasses that fly by the train window are green, but dark and dull, not the exceptional brightness I often saw in Irish grass. Why? What is so special about it? Is it a different species of common grass?
I feel loss and already miss the island itself, not to mention the people that I grew so very fond of there. Vienna is interesting and huge, full of young punky people at first glance. It is the first city I have visited where signage is everywhere, but does not speak my language. I stare at public notices dumbly, instinctively trying to read them, wondering what they say.
I immediately feel great pity for those in North America who don't have much English and are at every moment at a disadvantage. I, at least, have a friend by me who grew up here and can help me navigate.
The first morning, after the first night, I wake up and I feel grief, low and soft and lapping like muscle ache. I wonder why, and try to imagine if there is any other reason but the obvious ones (I miss you, I miss you, I'm sorry...). But then, I am naturally and habitually prone to grief. Perhaps the habit and the stress of a long day travelling on little sleep is all the answer there is. Perhaps the answer is just as simple as it seems, and why am I trying to deny it?
Ah, of course. I am looking for something I can do besides waiting for the grief to eventually subside. I want to be good company to my host, rather than crying mournful for all the time I planned to spend here.
I miss you. I miss you. I'm sorry.
Somehow, writing those words presses on the grief more directly than anything else I had tried thinking about or looking at, and pushes tears out of my eyes. This may be some kind of progress. It may be... Important to express it.
My host asks me if I need some tissues. He can see me crying. He might not know what they are called in English, but he holds them out to me with his question, so it is clear what he means.
I miss you, Ashlynn. I miss you. I'm sorry that my travelling and polyamory was too much for your heart.
I miss you, Coda. I'm sorry I had to go so soon.
I miss you, Ireland...
Distant memories of every love I ever mourned for march solemnly through my head. I feel tired. I feel tired of walking away from people I care about.
I miss you, Alex... I'm sorry, Jack... I miss you, Kitten... I miss you, Damon... I'm sorry, Jason... I'm sorry, Pieter... I miss you, Di... and Zi... I miss you, Robby. I'm so sorry things went that way. I miss you, Zephon. I'm sorry I hurt you... I'm sorry, Fancy... I'm sorry, Wolf...
and now, the latest in a long line joins the list of bright links, fragments of time when someone else shines through the veil of life's general impersonal darkness and pierces my outer skin to reach my heart and shake it... one of those bright as primacy, and sweet, and seeming to promise endurance.
I miss you Eoin. I'm sorry I left. I will try to come back to you. I want to come back to you. I'm... so sorry. I miss you so much.
No doubt, I will miss Sen too, by the time this journey is over.
At every juncture, turning back to the long, long road again.
You may remember me saying this, Eoin; perhaps someday my path will lead me to a place I can really see as home.
