lucky to have been granted the gift of kindness,
a bed to rest, a clean towel,
a window through which the sun shines in the early afternoon
crafting shapes in the ever so opaque curtains.
at night the silence is so immense that to quiet down
i play music at low volume;
usually some math rock will do.
so i lay here,
thinking about the past, the present, the future:
my future, most ardently, my steps
i think about myself like no one else
because what else can i care about
in the darkness of a room that is not mine?
my bag is mostly packed in a corner,
all the black clothes bundled up, shapeless, hoping to be washed upon my arrival.
i have seen nothing and eaten a lot,
i've written, i screamed my heart out to my favorite band,
i perused the emtpy hallways of a city i don't understand,
i tried grasping the laws of quantum physics behind metro systems
far more complex than ours,
i worked, sure, i talked a lot on the phone,
i imitated accents, i walked in circles,
i got lost.
i thought about you, maybe. not in that way for once.
i called my best friend 5 times in 4 days.
then i got lost again, took 5 pictures (and i am not in any of them),
i understood that maybe some cities
are best left to nature for resolution.
this is all but a brief pause.
all and nothing has happened in four days.
the amouse bouche for the upcoming weeks,
a palate cleanser of joy, disgust, agony:
i am alive and i've never been less afraid of letting the wind collate through and direct the movement.