six, thirteen

June 13, 2018

I am out of practice; out of breath. The words don’t come easily. I have to call for them, like for a scared stray cat. It used to be that it would all disappear. I’d turn away from myself. But instead, I just need to let it come to me and be quick about catching the right moment. A little bit like a perfectly chilled glass of wine. Tender gyoza for dinner, two nights in a row. Lebanese for lunch, again. I remain faithful to my habits even though I know there is so much more out there. I’ve made a list of neighborhoods in Prague I want to explore, revisit. It’s been far too long. I wish I loved this city the way I love all the others. The rain and gloom have slowed me down. The last few days, perhaps even weeks, have been quiet. Unusually so.

stay see

June 2, 2018

It’s an injustice. The fact that I haven’t been writing. Letting life move past me without leaving traces behind. I have certain bits and pieces, here and there. The beginning, maybe even the middle.

Day one, not one day.

Life has changed since December. Since London. I’ve been around the world since then; a dozen countries. He met me halfway in one of them when I didn’t know. It almost felt as if the¬†world stopped spinning for a while and then when it started again, it started at a different speed. At a pace that felt right.

I am still finding my way around this new life. But to bottle up the beauty and freedom would be a shame.

without a title

June 1, 2018
London.

Here’s what I told him when we sat in that basement bar the first night I saw him.

That I am only aware of my emotions and thoughts; I have no idea how they are formed. It’s a serious handicap of mine. It makes me seem inarticulate and illiterate. That my inability to convey an opinion in a way that would move the person reading it is what makes me inadequate. In more than one way. Unless I learn how to remove myself from my own mind, step outside of it, and take a wider look at the world around me, I am going to be trapped in the state of mind that I am in until the end of times.

Is this the reason why I haven’t been writing? Out of fear or disdain for everything that I produce. It’s always one or the other. But of course, it’s all just excuses. It’s hard work. It takes discipline. Grit. I am struggling with both.

You are too hard on yourself.

It has been six months, though, and it’s a disgrace to who I want to be.