You’re going to leave me. Everyone always does. Just when we start to get comfortable. Just when routines are established. Just when I think we’re as permanent as that tattoo on the top of your foot, you up and walk away.
That’s how things go in DC. We are a town full of leavers.
I left once, but not for long. Four years was nothing when you consider I’d been here for two decades before that. But just like your hometown beckons you now, mine called out to me then. I returned and it was like I’d never really gone.
There is a quiet comfort in knowing the lay of the land. In having your family mere miles away. In seeing childhood landmarks through grown up eyes.
You can drive by your middle school and see the overhang where you locked lips with your crush. You can frequent that neighborhood diner that only seems to grow more charming as the years pass. You can explore the bustling downtown of a city that was nearly impossible to access from the claustrophobic cul-de-sac of your youth.
So I won’t hold it against you. I won’t judge you for returning to your roots. I get it. I just hate that I’m always the one being left. I’m never the leaver. I never get to turn my back on my friends and say “see ya!” knowing that I’m on to bigger and better things.
For now though, I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I’ll be right here, rooted to this happy little spot, and we’ll see if you boomerang your way back to me. Back to me and my city.