Something about resilience. Or being dead inside but still here. Something someone has already said. I saw these little brown flowers on my walk. They’re probably weeds and maybe that’s why they’re so good at staying where they don’t seem to belong. That’s how I feel living in my hometown right now. Like an invasive species, thousands of miles away from where I was meant to be, brought here only by some cruel fate designed to make me feel misunderstood and useless. Maybe I can dig me out and take me to where I’m native. I used to think you could only feel native to a place if you lived there your whole life. But some things sit somewhere from the beginning to the end, and are still not native. Native to me now means something different. I think you belong somewhere where you don’t just merely survive, but where you flourish. Maybe. But for a while, if you have to be a little dull and surrounded by snow, stay close to the sidewalks. Someone will see you and stop and know the strange feeling of kinship shared not with another human, but with another life.
