I wake up to heavy raindrops beating on my windows. I accidentally left one of the double-glass wings cracked open the night before; a rush of cold air envelops me.
Even at seven in the morning, orange street light fills my apartment. It feels so unnatural. Ugly. I stretch slowly and groan. I am dreading the upcoming winter weeks. Because late October feels bad enough already. Recently, a friend told me, you are a solar-powered human. I truly am.
The live version of This Time for Africa has been on repeat this entire week. The song rings in my mind when I am not listening to it.
One more day. Before I leave again.
He’s still messaging me. They all are. I only respond to Fuego. His fire to my light. It’s been six months. I’m restless for another road trip with him.
I run down my list of upcoming trips and I feel blessed, grounded, and grateful. Being able to leave whenever I want calms me down.
I’ve been practicing. Breathing, writing daily, keeping my head high, and clear.
My body craves inversions. I fold myself up in a door frame with ease now.
Too much sugar lately. Daily chocolate, homemade almond macarons. But it’s only temporary.
I’m counting off the days until home. 58.