boomerang

I boomerang. Throw who I thought I was and what I thought and who I’ll be far and long. (Or I circle, dispatching the same, solid conclusions almost as fast as I arrive at them.) And then after awhile something small starts nagging at me. I read a book, listen to a song, hear something on the radio. And when it all comes (when I come) soaring back it’s hard enough to knock my knees out.