Day Two

Dear Friend

I've settled in.

The first few days were like this:

Where am I, why is everything so small, hello what's your name I seem to have forgotten mine so can I borrow yours, come on what's your life story?
Deep breath; huge smile. Adrenaline's on high. I love this city.
And then: Wow you play ukulele like I've never seen! Yeah I play a little guitar but not like that! And you, I should make you pancakes, this one time a friend and I mixed Siracha with our maple syrup to slather on our banana pancakes . . . no I'm not sad I'm just remembering because it's sweet sometimes to live in the moments that carve stories out of your bones. So you're my room-mate, huh, can you manage me living out of this suitcase because I'm kind of a nut job and I need to be in a mess to feel at home, yeah?

And then: Don't you just like to rush out in a new town and take every wrong turn and just get lost? Wow the spiders absolutely love the street lamps in this city, it's so warm even at night right now, I hope it gets cold soon, the stars are so lost up there I wish we could see them, let's talk about everything, sit down and take a chair I've got a few, and a table to boot. 

And then: Hey look at my Doctor Who belt, and your T.A.R.D.I.S. shirt. Together we could rule this city! Together we could rule this city. Lying together, the skyline outlines my thoughts, it's only been days but we've fallen into each other the way the rain seems to so constantly fall onto the flagstones and the way that I speak to you like every word is the first and last word that I'll ever say . . . as if, when pouring out, I discover everything I am about to say, and long to spill it all at the same time, but your eyes hold me together and keep me calm while I tangent off about the humbling, humbling nature of everything that I love.

Today was like this:

I feel so overwhelmingly lost and empty inside for absolutely no reason, maybe it's because I've got a day off, and those kinds of days are where I get so off, I wander without getting lost, but it's okay, I watched half a season of Supernatural with Kellie, who has been a redhead for a week now, I think, which is pretty amazing though it has very little significance I tried writing but I can't.

I'm stuck between thinking I'm thinking all of the most complex and gorgeous thoughts fathomable and not being able to dig them out from under my fingernails, and thinking I'm drowning in a complete lack of nothing. I wish you were here to make the words come out. I consider what you would exalt and criticize when I try to spark some kind of life in a story.

This city is truly a wonderful place. Every little bit amazes me. The tube, the random porn in the telephone boxes, the better dressed people, the whole slew of cyclists, the brickwork and the layout and the buildings and the shops and the chai. I walked around for two hours and it felt like this:

The lightest rain brushes my skin, the sharp looks of the people around me balancing it out, the umbrella's like my shell and we're all a bunch of silly beetles scurrying about in the rain, my breaths come in cold but I'm so warm, trying to shop was such a waste of time, I dearly miss my sister who I have not called in days, sometimes I'm afraid everything's just a dream but then again it has been such a lovely dream, I don't have to remind myself to look right first when crossing the road, and I find myself back home quite easily. Did you see that? I called it home.

Spicy dreams.