and and and

hello june.

this happened on the seventh day.

I thought I should try and say something about this.

....

But I can't, I don't know how to, I don't know if I can, not yet, because I live, lived it. The most I have is to read back over what May did for me and try and turn that into some kind of ache in the heart that tastes like sunburns and sunsets and dancing and darkness. That's what I know, starlight and streetlight and midnight and bridges and quiet green and funkdirty and leaving.

...

hello july.

I am now 20.
maybe I shouldn't have told you that for the sake of the internet not knowing these things, but naah. f*ck it.
(wow, look how polite I'm being.
no guarantees of such attempts in the future)
but I am also on another evening of suitcase zipping and clothing rolling, pushing and packing and hoping for everything to be where it needs to, because tomorrow I am back at the airport and tomorrow I am en route for 2 hours to Washington and then 17 hours to Johannesburg.

SAY WHAT.

The month I've had not on airplanes has been (           wish there was a word                ), in seeing friends that I never see but will continue to always never see and it will be okay, in laughing with my brother and getting around the last two years, in frozen yogurt and conversations, in not making up and not making over but in making it through, in daily music, in playlists and car rides and graduations.....
in camp.

Ah.

Yeah.

Kretinga.

Two weeks of if only you could be there. Of radioactive, of skuuuuunks and pringles and cups of green tea and pb&js, dances and singing, nutella... of spiders and stay and same love and clutching and laughing, of beach preaches and confident walks and dressing up and hallelujah, of pirates and mad hatters and words and raspberries. Of 5 ams, and hearts, and crazy pants. Two weeks of sunrises and sunsets and siestas and southbound trains, cats that came back, midnight, elephants, whistles.

All I have left to say for it is iki pasimatymo. There is nothing I can do or speak or write or think that can cover what it is, what it was, so I will leave it to what it will be, another year of time that maybe is and maybe is not as real as those two weeks, but they are all we've got. Oh, and that's the hardest part.

I don't know anything, and least of all what will happen next.


So I will leave you here with thoughts on wagon wheels and leftover incense on prayer flags and how time never listens, how time never slows, how time never exists the way it wants to, needs to.

so this is for new borders and old friends and old beginnings and new ends and and and

stay

-k