if I shift my view outside for too long – my eyes begin to swell. the grey makes me want to go back to bed. my therapist said I’m heavily influenced by my surroundings- and she is right cause the southern sunsets live in the back of my mind. each orange hue, one for each time I don’t want to be here anymore. but they will run out – and I need to see them again. a magic shift.
about 2021: I graduated at the beginning of the year, got a job and continued with what had to be done. All whilst the world continued closed – no fun to be made. throughout the months, rarely anything changed – even when summer came around all I felt was the presence of my fears. how I had convinced myself I was afraid, that I wasn’t in control, that everything that scared me was real, and I wasn’t able to let any of it go. anxiety made it impossible to feel comfortable at all. – I had to let go, I had to leave.
I arrived in Portugal, stood on my balcony and overlooked the sunlit southern city, and learned how to breathe again. All the steps I would take, were on my account. I learned to listen, to accept, to be brave and to live a joyful life again. I learned not to fear – to shift my focus into the brightness.
this year has taught me that I can do anything, as long as I find the courage to be fearless.
and some night I don’t want to home, I’d rather wander the streets than to have to warm the bed all by myself again. I can’t say I miss you, I miss everyone that made me feel. my hands are cold and I’m longing to be touched. I go crazy over the little things cause I have nothing, no soft words to send me to sleep. I try to sleep, dreaming of arms to roll back into, but I reach for something that is not mine. I don’t want it to be mine and still I love to play with his hair.
some night I don’t want to go home, the void captures me whole, and I wonder what I need to not feel alone.
the sheets with the red stichting I bought last year. my key fits in the bike lock. the route to the trainstation is about 13 minutes. golden sunrays. the street I used to live. my mom cooking for me. a grey wintercoat in the hallway. small talk with colleagues. an alarm at 07:30. getting on with it. doing what I used to do. but not feeling it. not feeling like it used to.
Perhaps we were both trying to escape, hoping to find change on the other side. This new city gave us the courage to we start again, to make new friends. Flaunting our way through the streets that soon felt so familiar. We became regulars in a bar with amazing views and stayed up dancing till late, walking home in the glistening moonlight.
We had nothing to lose, no expectations to live up to, no more doubts or fears for the days that laid ahead. If carelessness had a color it’d be the blue skies above us, always present, always welcoming.
The city fitted so peacefully into the palm of our hands, we didn’t have to reach for it, we didn’t have to try. She made us feel comfortable. I’d never felt that easy for us to be happy, therefore I’m keeping my hands closed, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to leave.