life in laramie i.







i. 
In a children's book, I once read a passage about how, if you live in enough places, they start to become overlaid on top of each other, shared similarities amongst different landscapes. And the longer I live here, the truer it rings.

Brown rabbits appear everywhere, nervously scurrying across streets and small yards, and there is a footbridge over a mess of inter-connected train tracks--just like Mannheim. A stray cat in the Safeway parking lot makes me think of Bridgewater, and the small coffee shops and big football stadium harken back to days in Amherst. And I hold fast, and hard, onto those things--always keep an eye out for more--because they are little signs. this too, can be home. 

ii. 
I live in a house now. It's green, and big, and far cheaper than anything on the East Coast. I signed the lease. I paid rent, without frantically checking my bank app to make sure there was enough money. I have three roommates, who all brought enough dishes and furniture for a small army. We have doubles of everything--and a plethora of other things, like wine openers (we have eight and counting).

I don't have a lot of things--something I am still working on, because I'm always terrified of having ~stuff~. Stuff means you're staying, and I have to remind myself, that, well--I will be here, for a while. This is home, for longer than my other places, at least.

Books weigh me down, though. I might not have a dresser that takes four people to get up the stairs, but books are home; Books anchor me (cheesy, I know). So I buy them in bulk, start building a library of classics + favorites and thick, meaty reads that remind me of other times, to put in my bookshelf, to lay strewn across the floor, to build a fort around myself.

iii. 
I have never seen sunsets, the way I see them in Laramie. The sky--which is so much bigger here, an unexplainable phenomena--cracks open like an egg, and today's blue + grey turns into this evening's red, orange, pink, purple, lavender--a vivid masterpiece unlike anything anywhere else. The sunsets are worth staying for, alone.

(there are a lot of things worth staying for, though) 


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