None of the untruths

I would like to tell you, but I'm not going anywhere.
Glasgow Botanic Gardens, Fall 2014

It might be a hole, but it's my hole

I am friends with the bush outside my window.

Nothing unusual, honestly

Believe it or not, that's how it was supposed to be. And I'm okay.

So this is what happened:

At the end of spring, I came back home.

I spent the summer traveling to the places I knew and even dared to make my way down some new roads nearby, but everything was safe and sound.

Somehow, I lost myself in between the days, but now I see that this was the best thing that could have happened to me. It was a quiet time before the flood came and took me from the shore to let me set sail on the sea. But this is a different story.

Back home, I heard the wind, but I didn't listen. Maybe next time... (I will wait, as usual.)

At the moment, I am still trying to find the right words for the tales left to tell. Everything feels so different now. I don't even seem to remember the weather. Recovery might take a while, considering I don't know what I am recovering from.

Don't laugh at me, my clichés are always intended.

This is what I am here for

And this is how I am alive.