to love a place
You know you're in love (with anything really) when the best pieces of unrelated events or things remind you of said love. For example, when I was splashing my chacos through the clear water of Abram's Falls in the Smokies - the beauty instantly took me back to Glen Onoko Falls in Jim Thorpe. New memories are swallowed and made into poems for old places. Maybe that's sad? I'm not sure I know enough about these feelings to make a proper judgement, but tonight, at 26, that sounds okay to me. I'll take it.
Regardless, this happens because the switchboards in our brains have programmed themselves to absorb the emotions we need, and feed the ones we crave. Which may be a really shallow formula love, but there you have it. All I know is in all the years I've lived all over America — my happiest moments made me pause and think of Jim Thorpe. Made me think of victorian houses, brick buildings, narrow streets and Halloween. Made me think of churches turned into art museums, stone-walled galleries, statues of stags, and a train station that still steams up the mountain every day. Those instances of bliss in far away places made me remember a different town's past of burning hotels, ghostly handprints in jail cells, and so many amazing drives rolling down the mountain into that town. Listen, if you live close to Jim Thorpe in October, you must experience this. Make sure you drive in during peak folliage. The sound and color will make you shake if there's anything in you that resembles an decent animal's soul. I'm telling you with the right music and the windows down in certain instances you can make transportation actually take you someplace.
Okay, enough of this. Goodnight.