This is a line from Doig's "The Whistling Season".
We live 5 miles from the first home we shared as a newly married couple. The house, which was old then, is pretty dilapidated now. But it was ours, and I can still walk through every inch of it in my mind. I drive past it every now and then as I head into Provo, and I point it out over and over again to my kids.
Do you ever fell like you leave ghosts behind? Like places you have spent a lot of time in have part of you? I mean almost literally. It's one of the things I get a little sappy about. Because really, if you leave parts of you behind, are you less when you move on to the next place?
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