I had to wake myself up from a dream this morning. It was too painfully real.

I was visiting a familiar bend of the Bear River. It was a summer day and the sun had heated the waters to much more comfortable temperatures than usual. I was wearing headphones and the Moodyblues were causing an unbearable pressure to build in my chest. I was crawling up slowly through the shallow waters, pulling myself from round stone to round stone, each feeling disgustingly like home,fitting perfectly around the palm of my hand. I stood and noted the alternating dark,light, dark, light of my traveled road, caused by the trees' protection of its domain below: almost an agreement between these grandfathers and the youthful rays of which stones, drops, fish, girls they were bound to touch.
"Beauty I'd always missed, with these eyes before.
Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore."
The rocks and waters had seeped into my skin and welled within me, causing the pressure to rise into my throat. I turned from the shore to which I had so safely clung and with meditated step by meditated step, began moving my body towards the river's heart. My eyes were fixed upon the growth beckoning me from the other side, but my self was elsewhere. It was mourning, it was celebrating. Lost. Found. It was collapsing in pain. It had transcended with joy.
"cause I love you...Oh, how I love you!...ooo,oooo. Ohh, o, how I love you, o, oooh."
I loved these waters ,this river, that bend. But it was no longer mine and I was no longer theirs. I was forced into alienation by my memories of acceptance that haunted my youth.
My whole being ached with the worst kind of homesickness: that of childhood.