On leaving somewhere small: nobody warns you that you will have to…

On leaving somewhere small: nobody warns you that you will have to keep doing it.

I left at eighteen and I have left again about six times since, in the sense that every time I go back there is a version of me waiting that everyone still refers to in the present tense. Not maliciously. It is just the version they have. You correct it, gently, over a weekend, and then you leave and it reverts.

I used to find this unbearable and now I mostly find it restful. It is the only place where I am simple.