december, xii.

The National Gallery, London. December 2017.

I keep certain songs on repeat. For weeks, months, years. Like my thoughts. Maybe if I change the music I listen to, so will my thoughts. A novel idea.

I flew to London for a weekend. To walk the streets, visit my favorite cafes, get lost in the streets of Marylebone. To laugh and be at ease for once. My world hasn’t been the same since.

We’ll always have Istanbul.

I am not alone this week and it disturbs my flow. No more visitors next year.

I’ll be home soon. I’m ready for the year’s end.

I agreed to a friendly dinner with the sunshine. He’s going to flip out when I tell him my stories. I am grateful that I can tell him to begin with.

I’ve decided to start working on my morning pages. To write lists again. I need to keep my mind still.

What he said to me. Everything replays as if on a loop in my head. But there’s nowhere to go from here.

I don’t know what you want me to say. The truth and nothing else.

Hong Kong grips at me. Three months. I’ve never been there on my own before, I’ve never been in the city without living there. I’m scared I won’t be strong enough against the gravity of memories.

December 12, 2017