yes, but i can be folded into sharp edges and overlapping corners on the far side of the train, chin to the metal on the windowpane, squinting to see the sheer fall of cliff through the glass scratched with keys, and still be thinking of it. 

still, walking around in a different timezone is almost like having a doppelganger of yourself cast in blurry dual-images, all opaque exposed neck and awkward elbow misaligned on top of your flesh and bone skeleton self. when your feet hurt from all the walking, your first self marvels at the amount of stone and concrete you should never have been able to pound upon with arch and heel. your second self sweats in the blinding heat, reaching ever backwards to your first heart, anxious that she is missing the details: do you see what i see?  

And, of course, that strange, metallic aftertaste of disgust in your mouth when you find that the thing you once wanted has changed to become so trivial amongst all the other golden wreckage of your dewy, budding life.