Tourist In My Hometown

The arrival in town after so many years away brought back the memories

Of the time I lived in the house on the hill exposed, as it were, to the mocking

Glances of those who lived in the nicer parts of town, their houses not so descript,

Those houses of the same in the same and the endless sameness upon itself so,

Comfortable in it’s togetherness among the many as alone I stood, exposed

On the hill, ashamed that I should be seen, apart, different, and without all

That made them so comfortable. I could not belong though I was with them.

I was different and alone among them. I longed to be one of them. But it

Could not be that I was one of them. It was as though the cosmos had shined

A dark light on my existence threatening at all times to expose my lack.

My lack of knowledge, my lack of understanding, my lack of compassion,

My lack of being. On the hill was the house, the faux limestone rock, the tall

Steeped roofline, the large windows that hung in place opening my life for

All to see on the road too busy to live on, not tucked back in the trees and the

Hills where the real people lived in safety. Shaped by these thoughts I made

A place for myself inside myself where I could hide from the brightness of them,

And their impending greatness and success. In this place which could not be seen

By them, I would determine my own way around the bend, doing exactly the opposite

Of what they did, further driving me away from them and all they had and what I

Wanted: safety, belonging, security, protection, love, being. I would, therefore,

Stand alone on the hill with the house that made my existence too noticeable.

I would think; one day I shall return to this house and find that it is no longer

A place for a lonely child living in the open view of the mockers, but a brightly

Colored business, crowded among other brightly colored businesses, bringing

Attention to itself and providing sustenance to the hungry. Giving, providing

To all who entered that for which I so longed so long ago and never found.

Jim Hime ©2012