I Do Believe It's True

I close my eyes.
And I am where the land meets the sea, I'm on some train or bus; I'm walking barefoot.
Salty waves are crashing onto the beach in Muizenberg,
They are beating the rocks in St. Ives into polished black beads,
They are spraying the grey pier at Whitehaven.
The Indian and Atlantic oceans are stirred together along Cape Point.
There are people around me who I don't and never will know, maybe they don't speak my language. I'm half alone, I don't know what will happen next, who I will meet, or what I will be.

I open my sore red eyes.
Those beaches, rocks, sand, salt, water, the people on the train- they're all in my computer in a file called "Pictures," they're in a white frame on my wall, they're a pile of papers, letters, and postcards in a shopping bag on my floor. So contained, like me. I know pretty well what will happen next, I know who I will meet, and what I am becoming.

I really long for the beautiful, lonely uncertainty of travel.

Wednesday

In times like these, I think the world shrinks. I can touch the four corners of the map from where I sit, and they're like cement walls. At once I see the twenty four different hours: it's sunset, it's noon, it's ten pm.
Or maybe it's not that, maybe life is exploding and pieces are everywhere, scattered over thousands of miles.
Only sort of everywhere all at once?

AND After Taking Pictures of Myself Wearing Dad's Sweater and Sue's Glasses...

.... I miss you.

216 Hours

And today I realize that I don't particularly want to go back there, I don't want to stay here, I don't want to revisit anywhere either.
I want to go somewhere new.

After Taking Pictures of Myself Wearing Dad's Sweater....

....I want to paint!

I Will Say,

I will say I'm happy.