It never changes, this place.
The light, the dark, the dry, the wet
Merely alter it's shadows
And yet
I have changed.
Misplaced now, in my hometown
I sit by the river in lamplight pale,
The usual bench,
Inhale.
And I know.
The tendrils, of my growing,
Lie still, in withered dormant paths
Beneath the pavement.
I laugh.
They always will.
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