Missing England

Some time ago, I wrote this about missing New York City:

Sometimes I miss New York as if it were a person. It's as if the city has its own character and disposition and certain things (scenes/actions/encounters/events) remind me of this. It feels very unlike how I miss "home" home (Michigan). It is neither nostalgic nor wistful nor vague but a distinct sadness that I forget until I am reminded of it.

The same is not true of Durham. England is too unobtrusive, too even-tempered and polite, to cause me to miss its personality. So how, then, do I describe this sense of loss I feel?

Perhaps Durham is for me like a lost hat or a favorite sweater now too worn to wear. It is warm and comfortable, familiar, an easy choice. When I catch myself in the mirror, I am, at times, taken aback by its presence about me. Other times, it fits so well that I forget it's there. Wistfully and with a certain measure of regret, I let it leave me (or let myself leave it), and I am surprised that such bittersweet feelings of tenderness, quite simply but aptly explained with a childish "I feel sad," could develop in a fraction of the time spent wearing other things.