crisp air; the air of changes. I am getting lost in the fading mortality of our age, forgetting about time, about its meaning. I have been wandering, floating around for the past few weeks, trying to remember. trying not to forget. they keep saying the 20s are the best times in your life and I am just at the start of it. are they lying? I guess I am going to find out. each day, each hour gets its own attention and I am incapable of thinking about future. I don’t want to. how long has it been. two, three weeks? the relativity of that expression borderlines with dangerous. my inner chaos and his composure holding hands, our shadows smiling.
and those few sunrises in my favorite neighborhood, the soft light entering through the blinds, cutting the shadow constellations like cheese. mornings like those make me hungry for the outer world. I want to experience it all. and the fact that there are almost seven years between us gives me a false sense of stability and balance. it is better than nothing. don’t get used to this.

I have been writing every day. my head is filled with ideas and words; I can taste them on the tip of my tongue. I can see them printed out. what the paper feels like, the texture of each page. but I cannot escape my own pathos. eventually it creeps between the lines and melancholy fills the room, lingering above like a heavy cloud before rain. it has been raining lately but not enough. the city streets need to be washed, wiped clean of everything. the burden of nights out, confused mornings and those few afternoon moments that I am allowed to have to myself. I need a fresh start. turn to a different page. perhaps skip a couple of chapters because I am already very well familiar with the storyline. how it goes. girl meets boy, girl likes the boy. we all know how it ends.

I am homesick. homesick like I haven’t been since I was five years old. it is consuming me. eating me up inside. I cannot stop looking at photographs from september. I keep re-reading my entries from that period of time, wishing I could simply go back. I need this feeling to go away. the sadness consumes me in a way I cannot fight or do anything about it. the twentieth anniversary and the fact that the news are flooded with it, doesn’t help at all. I was surprised how personal it actually all is without even realizing it before. sometimes I would like to detach myself from this world. simply disappear. in a physical and spiritual way. sometimes I think it would be sweet to just cease to exist. dissolve into nothing. because the endless question of belonging wears me out. not to mention that I don’t know what to do with all this happiness.

I am behind on everything. instead of writing I keep noting down to do lists with points that say write and finish that story and finish that poem and finish that essay. on the road part four has been sitting unfinished and with a couple of different versions in my draft folder since the beginning of october. I remember I was in bosnia when I first started writing it and I thought, by the time I leave here it will be finished. I’ve been back at home for a week now and it is still there, unfinished without a future. not even the first sentence makes sense. the three month trip has worn me out. too much of everything. places, people, photos, experiences to write down. but I will get there, eventually. by the time winter truly rolls out around me I will be back with my daily musings. I just need to find my old routine and some consistency first.

I am not sleeping well. I am not sleeping at all. I had to be reminded of my own writing style in order to find my own words. to get them all back. somehow everything feels reversed as if I am going back in time my mindset slipping back into what it used to be. only because of a couple of sentences. one fucking message. for someone who doesn’t have a problem with leaving people behind I am spending too much time with you on my mind. to the left, to the left. I wish I was in new york city. in washington dc. in san francisco. in beijing. in melbourne. in auckland. in tokyo. in bangkok. in dubai. in cairo. in istanbul. in nairobi. in cape town. in paris. in barcelona. in the middle of the oceans. places just pop up in my mind and I want to transfer myself. sort of like jumper. if I could chose any super power it would be the ability to go anywhere at any time. right now I can’t even understand that I was in one place for a year and a half. a year and a half. the longest period of time in my entire life that I didn’t travel anywhere. you must not know about me, you must not know about me. it has gotten colder over night and but I still swam in the bay today. played tennis at back of the house; shot some nice photographs; watered my grandmother’s garden. I am split between wanting to leave here tomorrow and staying forever. how to be everywhere at the same time?

on the day of my arrival to central europe it was eleven degrees and it was raining hard. in the last two weeks we’ve gone through autumn, spring and finally summer. today it is more than thirty degrees, sunny, hot. but the humidity is missing and I am feeling okay. at the moment I don’t have a permanent home so I am moving between friends’ houses. sleeping on a couch or in a sleeping bag has never bothered me. in fact, I love the spontaneity and I don’t mind. I have abandoned the piece I started writing in textedit at the airport terminal in istanbul and instead I placed my attention back to notebooks. I keep buying cheap paperbacks at shakespeare & sons my favorite bookstore located at the heart of kampa park. yesterday I purchased kipling’s kim. immediately I wished I was in india. I cannot stop the train of my thoughts, I cannot stop wishing I were on the road constantly, always moving between neighborhoods cities countries continents. there is a traveler’s cafe on the right side of vltava; they promote themselves by offering a free drink to anyone who has passport stamps from four different continents. only I keep forgetting to bring my passport with me. only I keep forgetting where I am from.