The postings here have been quite sparse. It doesn’t signify the end, nor another hiatus but I wanted to remove myself completely from a few things. Which I did. I had this significant moment driving through the mountains in Portugal on my last night there. I was listening to Magnetized by Tom Odell, and I felt so peaceful, and what a frightening feeling that is.
Another one of those Saturdays passed. No car doors were slammed, but ironically the door I was trying to open was stuck, and once I finally got it open nobody was there. Then when someone’s asking you what the reasons are for your actions and reactions, you start to struggle in terms of finding the right words to say, that this is what you’re used to. This is how I was treated, and darling I’ve been wiping this slate clean for you but there’s still scuff marks that just won’t go away no matter how many times I polish myself off for you. So I created roots out of those scuff marks, and I’m hoping they grow into something beautiful.
When do you stop walking behind enemy lines long enough to know that you’ve found safety? Are you sure there aren’t anymore firebombs headed towards your chest? I guess once you realize your actions, you question if you made the right choice and spend the early hours of the am panicking because a moment ago you were lost in the right way and you didn’t even want to find your way back.
So I closed the car door lightly, but I could still hear the echo from somebody saying, “this isn’t a good idea” and the next thing you know it’s 2:17am and the credits are rolling to a different Robyn song. It’s the difference of 24 hours, to vintage t-shirts, and hiding your face behind your hands because you didn’t know your face could light up so much, and you don’t what it even looks like. I try not to be that way in terms of communication (hiding behind my hands, or this computer screen), I’m so envious of how brave my friends are for saying the right things. I spent 6 weeks in Portugal woeful about that. So last night I chose communication, in hopes of both ends of the phone call not going to sleep upset. Or even sleeping at all. #eyebags
Maybe I’m bad at Saturdays. This won’t be a re-occurring theme, two people can play broken telephone all they want, but sometimes you have to admit to yourself that there’s too much good in a person to not pick up the damn phone.
When that chalkboard on Augusta St said “Be open to what comes next” on that Tuesday afternoon in May, it wasn’t asking, it was telling you to. So you better be in the audience next time.