I live in a small town down the road from a small city of no particular import or renown. In that respect it’s like hundreds of other nondescript locales found in the in-betweens, places that, were they to be known at all, would be known for their proximity to other places. How far to Memphis? How far to Chicago?
Nobody from elsewhere yearns to live here, though sometimes those who once lived here feel a yearning to return. Those are two different yearnings, I know. The one is the draw of fantasy and illusion, the other is the draw of nostalgia and reunion.
There’s is another sort of yearning, though, a sort of hybrid of the two, I suppose: the desire for a home you’ve yet to find. I live with that desire. In this small town, down the road from that small city, where nobody from elsewhere yearns to be.