When I walk my dog I take him here, to this place in my town that hasn't been built on by neighbouring housing estates because of the powerlines. The general aesthetic is awful but I like it because it's quiet and my dog likes to rub his face in the grass. You can see most of my town from here; the stupid little backward village that I love so much, that I'm always aiming to get back to, that I can never be too far away from.
I love my uni, and I love the city. I love the people in my class who learn these electric and sacred things with me and treat the process with the same reverence and sincerity, yet are still not too proud to breathe a snicker when our lecturer says 'sextuplet'. I like trains and I like things that consume my attention completely and I love the strange mania of ideas that comes in impossible waves.
But no matter how much I like the city and its plastic chairs in the back of pubs or the coffee that tastes like coffee or the tiny lawns of terrace houses or the constant comfort of traffic noise, I could never drag myself completely away from here, this semi-rural semi-wasteland. It's too much a part of me, too much decided who I am, for me to stay away forever. I grew up with horses and trees and grass and sticks and I miss the stars when I leave, because I've never seen stars so clearly anywhere else in my life.
I won't be here forever, but I guess it's always just going to be a matter of time before I will want to come home, to the ugly powerlines, and rendered houses, and my little dog's muddy body and permanent doggy smile.
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