september, xxv.

I am back at the office three hours before anyone else after just four hours of sleep. Delhi, London, Prague. I think about time zones. I think about how I’m going to get through the day.

I asked him to give me ten or fifteen minutes of his time. Some issues I wanted to talk about. Instead, he took me for coffee and listened for an hour and a half. I may have been wrong about him and it felt good to consider that possibility. We came up with solutions that’ll keep everyone happy. After three years, they need to see me for who I am.

An espresso at Wood Food Market. I think of those weeks after I came back from Rome how I’d come back every morning and relive my Italian dream. I make a note to look up the flights later. Of course.

I look up other flights, too. London, Bourdeaux, Paris, Edinburgh, Barcelona, maybe Madrid. It’s what I do now. This is how I live. Why stay in one place? Nothing is keeping me here.

That feeling used to feel like freedom. Now it feels like a routine.

Sometimes I daydream and I imagine him saying, could you not go this weekend? Stay at home with me. And then I’d miss my flight. I imagine cooking food for others, I imagine having someone to take care of.

By yourself is not enough. I think he was right then.

And it’s such a hard truth to swallow.