There are things I can’t say about where I am staying right now, knowing that others will be reading these silly little words.
Let’s just say I love this place.
I woke his morning on the perfect futon, tucked into the bay windows on the first floor. I grabbed my laptop, said hello to anonimity and exquisite solitude, and tried to catch up a bit on emails from the everywhere. This consumes. I seldom sleep more than a few hours at a time anymore, trained by the European tour to wake up at fourish, in orer to have a conversation that will anser questions the may have a few hours before the show.
They give us what they have, they’re beautiful, and I need to be there for them.
I do what I can in this insanity – my own.
Off to packing my things. I get on the bus. I love looking at the people – but unfortunately, I have to smell them, too. Someone who was a man at some point gets on, reeking of stale piss, and sits a few seats away from me. In unision, everyone within ten feet opens the small sliding windows – the sad woman sitting across from me, a lifetime of thinking her pain was her punishment etched on her face.
If only she could see how beautiful everything was. If only she could find her shine again.
It hurts me to see these people – the people who have given up. I want to take them in my arms and let them know that it is okay, let them know that they can change what they see…
I have high hopes. Fuck. I sound like a goddamned missionary – but these are the times – the only times – seeing people who have so much inside of them who have let themselves fall and deny and rot, decaying into the world they think is around them, that I hurt.
because that used to be me.
I get off the bus, walk the rest of the way to my apartment. I don’t hold it dear anymore. It has only become something I need to pack up and get out of – but hell – I’ve been there over a year, and wanted to make it home. Everything that is dea to me, scattered and needing to be packed away.
I do that. Books, trivialties, then, a selected box for my altar. There is space, so I lay the 13 dried roses for her on top, and seal the box. They couldn.t have had a better place.
More packing, transition.
Excitement. A new life, things unfolding.
BEAUTY.
I can’t express how much I love my life these days.
“Whatever you can do, or dream that you can,
BEGIN IT.
Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.” ~ Goethe ~
Tired, I look to dreams of peace and nothing, and sleep.
And I love you. Never question that – and remember it. I always remember that you love me, now that I have taught myself to acept it.
That’s the trick…
(This was supposed to be a bit more fun to read. Sorry that my intentions were clouded by where it took me…)
With love and a beautiful adventure,
me.
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