You know how sometimes you are walking down the street on your way home from work, thinking of what you are going to buy for dinner and how your feet hurt and how that colleague really wasn’t right about the invoice but on the whole you are happy with your life and and you are suddenly jolted out of your complacency and overwhelmed with a full-fronted attack of nostalgia for the place you used to live? You look around for the culprit but you can’t see one – maybe it’s just the way the sunlight fell through the leaves just like in the park where you used to go for your lunch break
maybe it’s the evening breeze bringing you a whiff of those flowers you never knew the names of but always thought should feature in an Impressionist painting
maybe it’s the grafitti scrawl of someone’s alias that doesn’t resemble the street art you used to have around the corner
maybe it’s the sudden realization that your commute no longer takes the breath out of your body in exchange for steep beauty
maybe it’s when you think ahead to the evening jog that now takes place on an even, red, perfectly shaped high school track instead of around a manor-house-turned-public-park with uneven gravel and elderly couples holding hands
I don’t know how it happened. But it’s official now.
Lyon, I miss you.
Where Is My Suitcase 