the dead sea is the lowest place on earth

we sat shoulder to shoulder. “maybe one day I’ll bring you to russia,” said misha. “we could go camping in the ural mountains,” I said. “or just the kazakh steppes.” our breath made little clouds when we spoke. “I’ll take you to the room where I lived with my grandfather,” said misha, “and teach you to skate on the neva.” “I could learn russian.” misha nodded. “I’ll teach you. first word. dai.” “dai.” “second word. ruku.” “what does it mean?” “say it first.” “ruku.” “dai ruku.” “dai ruku. what does it mean?” misha took my hand and held it.
the history of love, nicole krauss.

the loneliness is beginning to catch up with me. I noticed today as I sat outside my favorite starbucks for over two hours, reading the history of love, indulging in a cup of cappuccino. beautiful, warm day. the light lasted until almost seven. I walked past strangers, passed everyone by, remaining ignorant. but at the same time I was somehow aware of everything. especially the silence that has taken over my phone in the last few days. one gets easily used to a constant flow of messages and half a dozen missed calls each night. but now, nothing. I’m on my own. I’m on my own but half the time I am somewhere far away. on a different planet, distant. I bought a new journal tonight. maybe I could use it as a chance to start something distinct. start over, maybe.