Sunday; last day at home. I slept in between snacks and swims. The sky has been swollen with rain since yesterday.
Homemade burek. Homemade plum cakes. Homemade everything.
We biked to the open sea. The wind was strong but the sea was warmer than the air.
I keep diving in and out. Pausing before I come up for air just to look around me. Even my heartbeat with the sea. The massive deep blue around me. The sheer vastness of it.
Quiet before the summer storm.
Coffee, Campari, Karlovačko, bijela bevanda.
I returned home barefoot.
The hardest goodbye. Then the feeling of being depleted.
I suddenly missed him so much I felt like my chest was going to collapse. Just feeling the weight of his body next to me.
I think I won’t make the same mistakes anymore. The past three years have been mostly about that.
Still Croatia. Croatia again. I’m so grateful for these trips back home. I wouldn’t be able to keep keeping on without them.
First, it was gloomy and windy. I fell asleep right after breakfast; nine chapters into A Passage to India. One more day here.
At one the weather cleared and suddenly it was hot, sunny, blue, calm. I immediately went down the hill for a swim and stayed. The sea makes me a better person.
A quick run to the supermarket. I bought a Znanje paperback of a John Grisham novel. It’s the same one I saw in Venice two months ago after he told me about it. When I still didn’t know who it was. Circles of life.
A quick bike ride around the half-island. My father asked me to bring him a different fishing rod; a tiny bay hidden between the pine trees. I hiked up the steep hill, feeling the sweat down my spine.
Back to the other side. Past the firemen’s station. My place. The sky was swollen with rain by then. Silver. The sea reflected a deep grey and blue. It felt like nothing moved. Sun rays in straight lines. Mufasa still looks after me.
Primošten. It’ll always be my favorite place. My sweetheart.
Of course, he wants to come again. I typed up a response, more of a provocation, and poured a jug of wine. Out on the terrace, feet up, the wind keeps blowing.
Tomorrow, I leave. Tomorrow, I need to get back on the track.
I don’t think I’ll sleep outside tonight but I’ll keep the sliding door opened.