a quiet settling into home.

A small group of girls stands excitedly on the corner; their matching bags and giddy smiles stick absurdly out from the drudgery of their surroundings.

It is a chilly, grey day: college students pass in flocks, heads down as they trudge their familiar paths in search of knowledge. This cluster of strangers is an irregularity, a blemish on these streets of habit. They clutter the pathways and gape at the masses of students that pervade the streets. I pass quietly, take note of this irregularity and continue on my route.

My coat flaps loosely in the wind.

I look in the eyes of the passing assemblage of faces, and they are familiar and quietly comforting. Even as unsettled as my mind remains, my path is ingrained with memories. Past events and words quietly whisper to me from the landscape that surrounds me. A wisp of hair blows across my face, and all of a sudden,

I realize.

No matter how restless my footsteps, this is my path.

Silently and without effort, I watch myself fade through the scene.