“I shouldn’t mind living in two places,” he said, his attention on the digging. “Home can be many things, a life’s work, or a person.” The blade went deeper, exposing tree roots, intricate and fragile like a network of veins. “What troubles me is that I might not always come back here as planned, every winter, for reasons we can’t yet envision. You know what will happen then? I’ve seen it happen to others: two versions of my homeland will begin to exist, one that is built on the myths of my memories, and the real place, which keeps moving forward without me. One day, I might not recognize it
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This wrecked me.
