Nostalgia

I'm supposed to feel nostalgic, right? All those adults said I would always look back on my high school years and smile or cry or something. . .well, they were wrong again.

 I've started writing another book, more like a mix of poetry and prose, but a memoir nonetheless. It's all true, every word. For some reason it decided to take me back to my childhood and adolescence, and you know what I've discovered? there's really nothing there to discover. Much of my memory is hazy. But a few things I do recall fairly well, only there's no connection to them. No emotional ties. Like it all happened to some one else, and I'm writing this book for someone other than myself. All the friends I had in middle and high school? Nonexistent by this point, except for one friend I've known since I was 7. The buildings, roads, hallways, scenes. . .nothing. Not a tug or even a sigh.
I'm Boulder's boy now, even though I'm currently living in Denver. The stage, Red Rocks, the Flatirons, Boulder Creek, the cafes like Innisfree and The Laughing Goat, that's my home. This is my life. All that other stuff was either an accident or a detour that eventually lead back to where I am now. Even the name I was given is something I can't recognize.
 When I left I didn't formally say goodbye to anyone and very few people bothered to say goodbye to me. Now i can't even remember all their names or faces.
 So, what is this? Certainly not a belated fare-thee-well. More like another insignificant outpouring to no one in particular, a photograph of a perfect stranger found on the side of the street and then casually discarded. No remorse. No explanation. Just a mild wind that blows through you, shakes the earth a little, and then is gone.