30 December 2013
Writing this now because I don’t know if I’ll still be able to do that tonight when I get back. I bet I’ll be knackered, but most of all, too sad to do anything else but remember, and remember.
What does it take, to have a life like this? How can I get here? There’s so much out there that I still have to do. And sometimes, I’m not even looking for this level of comfort. I mean, a balcony with a view. A house with a loft, located near the markets where bell peppers are as big as my fists. The mountains outside my window. I can do away with all of that, if it means finding peace in a small space, perhaps just as small as my desk.
I am here. This could be my life, I whisper to myself, over and over.
I said I will work on my poems and read some books. A tough lineup of to-do’s considering I’m only away for three days.
Our constant best friend:
I’ll have you know, my uncle gave me a flask for Christmas.
I don’t want to leave, but I have to go. Have you ever had that feeling?
…Had two cups of coffee, but that’s not enough to ward off the chill. So cold outside, and the wind is ever present. Perhaps the wind is a sign that one is alive, you know?
…The sun is out, and the wind is in my hair. The whole world turns, the day arrives, and I get to begin again.
Just finished washing the dishes. Now packing my bags. Ah, morning. Now, to go home.
I’m going to miss this place as usual…but it was good while it lasted.
Ah, goodbye. Goodbye.