The familiar blahs have set in again—post mini vacation—although a bit delayed this time. Maybe because I jumped right back into life with work commitments and birthdays to plan for and my online writers’ workshop to keep up with—and I didn’t have time to think: to pull out the mental snapshots of hugging my seven-year-old great niece and nephews who I haven’t seen for nearly a year. Or to recall the smell of Minnesota when the leaves begin to change and the evening air takes on a chill. But now that these memories have begun to wreak havoc on my senses, it’s as if they exist through a power of their own and I am unable to stop them. And even though I’m home now, I feel a little displaced, a little lonely. Like fragments of my heart stayed behind. I shouldn’t be surprised; it happens every time. Yet now I wonder: could I ever move back?
Do you ever feel torn between two loves?
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