early sunday morning. I haven’t been up this early on a sunday for a long time. especially not after a long night spent a local bar. there’s nothing local about it, I just like the way it sounds. my local, not yours. somehow clicking accept on that request makes me feel different. I’m breaking my own rules, it’s a completely new ground. I’m losing the touch with reality. of course, I’m thinking about white oleander. but it doesn’t really matter. it doesn’t matter. not after that phone call yesterday, not after I wrote that email and not after everything we have been through. I’m sorry I’m so hard to love.
I’m taking out old photographs from the boxes, they are everywhere; on my walls, floor, bed. I’m looking at them trying to understand who people in those photographs actually were. there’s one from paris with me and mom, standing below the eiffel tower, the sky is azure blue, our hair shines with sun. and we look so happy. I wonder whether it’s the right word. happy. what does that even mean? I was too young to know anyway.
summer. it’s coming. I can feel it. it’s creeping up on me like a black cloud. and every year it comes in from the same direction. things are getting harder, it’s getting hotter and my relationships with certain people are getting worse with each day. because that’s how it is. summer used to be the time of my life. summer used to be all about me being a kid and playing endlessly with sea shells by the sea. soaking in the sun and freedom. now I am a prisoner of a hot, concrete city, suffocating in the masses of people and heavy smells coming from the underground. there are no words to describe how much I want to go back to being six years old.
but it doesn’t mean anything.