it was the hardest thing to do, pretending i was okay when i said goodbye to you.
travel stills the soul.
and perhaps the journey must break your heart
until it opens,
passed passes me by
and i find myself
on the balcony
in a place, so far from all i knew this year.
it isn’t the end of the journey, oh no. it is only just the start.
i refuse to adjust, to fit back in, to be who i once was.
because there is no going back. there is only now and whatever lies ahead for me.
and i’ll make plans and take steps towards them all,
everyday in this life i knew and know.
i’m happy to be home.
you do realise i live a life out here?
away from all i learnt in all i was and all the places i found myself.
reflection leads to yearning.
it’s all the lessons in all the longing of when i was there. when i was that person. when i lived, day-to-day, in this in between, on-the-move, am-i-dreaming(?) surreality.
but i’m not looking back.
[a red balloon floats across a blue sky awash with white and wispy monet clouds.]
i’m here. it’s now. the wind still blows, i still ask questions and find answers in the movements of the universe as she showers me in confidence, that all i need to know i can find living deep within myself. not in the clouds of the skies but the storms and sunshine that brew and subside along the streams of my blood bursting through veins and clearing from smoke and mirrors emotion.
it has all become so clear, in asking and receiving.
in listening to morning birdsong, to the voice of that evening star.
in respecting the beautiful wishes of my still and beautiful heart.
travel is an attitue, a state of mind. it is not residence, it is motion.
– paul theroux
suddenly he was inside the radius of her perfume and kissing her breathlessly.
– f. scott fitzgerald, first blood
i am not my weight, i am not my age, i am not my height. nor am i the colour of my skin or eyes or hair. i am not woman not female, lady or girl. i am not the poor decisions i’ve made in the past, or the things i once chose to prioritise. i am not the little money i’ve had, or the money i’ve spent. i am not my drunken nights, not my excuses or my reasons, not the things i say, not the things i should have said.
i am not my mistakes.
i am not the same as you.
i am not,
and never will be,
what you expect me to be.
i am me.
i am flawed.
i am human.
pain or love or danger makes you real again.
– jack kerouac
…i’m dreaming the hardest.
– marilyn monroe