A chorus of owls are cooing. The sun is peaking around the corner.
There’s the faintest breeze here in the shade and I watch it rock the palm leaves with such gentle intrigue far off in the distance. I don’t want to move. From this spot, from this place—ever.
I just want to be.
For so long I wanted home and this feels like it.
Last night I watched clouds glide in as blue turned orange. Yuka came around the corner to our usual evening exchange. He continued on his rounds and then turned back, “I buy dinner—you want?” I declined—not hungry at the moment, but the gesture lingered with me.
I’ve cried a handful of times since being here. Deep, painful cries and the cry of something lost being returned with such gratitude.
Some nights I lay there wondering how this will work out, plans rehearsing themselves into the next morning when I wake. If I am careful not to touch a device before bed, all is well. The next step comes just as I need it and each day carries rhythmically to the next. This is how I’d like to live, but some lingering invisible force suggests otherwise.
I leave in 3 days for the new place in Sidemen. I wonder how it will be with such hope fluttering in my chest. Maybe it will be lonely—or maybe it will be the vast silence I crave.
“I want to be alone,” I thought to myself last night.
“You don’t want to be alone—you want to feel safe,” I heard whisper back.
And I concurred to concede I am not as stoic as I’d like to think.
I need a haircut. I’ve about given up on brushing it—the resemblance of dreads beginning to form. Could be a look—seems to represent the untamed state I’d like to exist in.
The heat feels stagnant now—or maybe I am tired from an intense expedition into town.
My brother is about to call me back and that’s really the only important thing at the moment.
Today will find its way and tomorrow will be just as vibrant in variety of thoughts and emotions.
Thanks for tuning in—for hanging out here in the mundane of this moment.