This could be a coming to terms with the myths of a place; a personal reckoning with its weight.
But it’s not.
Not when the weight is so worn and used; so ripe for hyperbole, pettiness, violence, and cynicism.
It’s more of a story about a woman I once knew and the promises I broke to know her. That feels closer to the poem I have for this place. I’m familiar with the feeling, with the feeling of that woman, with what it feels like to hold out hope for a crumb of redemption even when you’re all used up. That emptiness in your gut when someone says “you don’t love me anymore” and you know that they are right.
What could be more human than moving on from hope to hope? And what could be more devastating than the evidence?
All images ©Nat Ward