Then this morning is for us
I've been moving around from place to town to house since I was young. I've grown to love waiting for the next stop. and the next one after that. My friends would talk about family homes and generations in one neighbourhood - I wouldn't know anything of the sort. And I like it that way.
I'm letting the setting north London sun make turquoise-coloured blind spots in my eyes as the leaves shiver, and stray beams slip through their green fingers to climb past my window. I don't know what number home this is; I lost count when I was eleven- maybe twelve years old. Growing comfortable is a dangerous thing to do when nothing has ever been solid and certain in your life. Still don't know why I insist on attachment. I guess you've got to make a home whilst you have it.
The weather's hot and I'm wondering if the sun's going to blind me like this from the window of our new home. Will I like that window? Will it be mine for that short space of time. Another move - and another after that - is inevitable. I fancy myself quite the roaming soul at times, though I'll be the first to confess how embarrassing that is to admit. I used to call it wanderlust but now it has no titles, no names - it's just a thing that I feel needs to be done. I want to go on and keep on going. I'm sure you too have had this conviction that walking legs, chugging trains and flying planes were the only ways to live a worthy life and be happy.. at least once you've felt this too, right? Settling does frighten me a little... And yet here I am not wanting to move. I say I'm letting this old place go but I'm still stepping on the string and pretending not to notice that everything is exactly as it was.
An exercise in release leaves a healthier mind behind.
I'll need that work-out soon.
Not so sure what I'm on about now...
...
I enjoy watching the lemonlight (that's what I call the lazy kind of light the sunset/sunrise brews in the sky each day) make my brown skin more glow-y than it was before. When the shadows of the moving leaves set the scene of a play, my hands in the fractures of shadow and light become the stage for one small part of nature's untrappable scenes. I wonder if the quality of lemonlight and the tint of the shadows that pass through that new window will make me feel the same as I do here. I wonder if.
I'm moving out of London in three months' time. I don't want to worry my head with this change because it is a 'go' that will have to be gone alone. I'll be alone. I hope I won't be alone. I've many hopes for such a great leap from normality and I don't want to whisper any of them, for fear of not finding them manifested in a lonely, friendless future of mine. Don't worry about it. I'll make friends, and they'll be wonderful. I know it. (I f ing hope it. I pray it every day). Note to self: Keep telling myself that. Maybe it'll be true, I don't know. Just don't worry about it. And don't let your head get lured down that path - you know which one. Stay away. Steer clear. It'll happen when He knows it's best for you. It feels good to know how to calm myself down and quieten this raucous brain o' mine...
...
Shit. I think I might even be happy..? I don't actually like this - perhaps there is a deep-rooted fear and confusion in the unfamiliarity of being exposed to this emotion for so long. I am uncomfortable knowing that everything is, in reality, okay and I have no good reason to be anxious about the legitimacy of some peoples' feelings - people whom I love and have come to care deeply for. Knowing things and then understanding and applying them is a completely baffling notion, according to my irrational logic. I am happy and I both know and understand this. It's bizarre, I tell you! I'm even saying this with a smile on my face.
Utterly bizarre!
Now, what exactly I'm happy about, I could not specify. I couldn't tell you more than two details. I don't know. But I'm running with this for as long or as short as it lasts.
Hap p y : )