monday morning. missing; his photos are still in my bag. for a second I imagined maybe I will keep them forever. I am trying to ease into the week after a slow weekend spent entirely at home. the good and the bad. trying to focus on the excel spreadsheets before me but I am only thinking of all the other things I need to do. things that are a little bit more important. but I am not sure I can do this; writing every day. it wears me out. yet I don’t want to quit. in a way I am testing myself, how far I am willing to go. how much I am willing not to listen. I have been writing lists all morning. incoherent thoughts put into bullet points because I am not capable of doing much more. wanderlust. the familiar need to leave, to run away, to be invisible. the opposite of disappearing. novels the history of love and incredibly close & extremely loud are on my mind; maybe I need to find something to search for within my city. what would I look for, what would I search for? words of the past reappear in my mind. she’s always searching for someone on the streets. I wrote those words. only after many years they will have started making sense. confusion, too much coffee, my head is spinning. lack of fresh air. I want to go for a swim in my bay. there’s a pinch close to my heart when I remember how I left home. standing on the side of the road, with suitcases scattered around my feet, smoking a cigarette. I got on the bus and with the last sight of the sea I lost my sight of home. move on. how easy it is to say. 6:15 pm; my phone vibrates and I know it’s him. dilemma.