Research is exhausting, but not exhaustive

What kills me is how amazing and banal it all is. I walk down a street I’ve been walking down as long as I’ve known how to walk on my own two feet. I look up: of course I see the angle of the bank building, the library, a streetlight, and the trees in the park. It is as familiar as the bones in my hand. It doesn’t matter that this is a place of grief, a place I have not been in a year, a place that is fraught with love and hatred. There it is. My hand, the street, the familiar green smell, the blue line of mountains. I am here.


12 responses to “Research is exhausting, but not exhaustive

  1. Dear Indy

    You forgot to mention the “comforting sound of your adored older sister’s voice on the distant line as you (alone this time, and with a mobile phone stuck to your right ear) returned to places you once frequented together.”


    Your adored older sister

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