my hidden quiet

I have lived in this house for over a year now, longer than any house since I "came of age," and the corners of it have become so much a home that I cannot even fathom returning to the country of my birth and having to let go of my favourite place to rest my bones.

the pristine quiet

it was almost a cliche, plumbing the depths of my past in an all white house, with space and quiet and tears, and the sharp tongue of anger that I had hidden from for so long, but there was a freedom, too, in the quiet of the summer, in the hush of freedom.

fresh breaths

In the exact moment that I needed a fresh breath, an escape, my best friend's parents claimed me as their own and whisked me away to a city stuck in time, streets I'd read about, a day without having to face the pain.

(Bath, UK, and London, England)

corners and continents

we find ourselves in the oddest places:
in a boat race in the middle of Rotterdam,
on road trips through Holland,
in the middle of a field between canals,
and traveling,
traveling,
our traveling bones

English Christmas

This year, I was welcomed into my friend's family for Christmas, and I spent a week completely submerged in English culture. It was interesting, and completely odd, to be a part of a family that is a counterpart to my life thousands of miles away.

the times between

the times between were the growing times,
when we woke up to snow and still traveled north,
when we waited on Westminster Bridge for the turn of the year,
when I learned to be loved and to love more than I ever had before.

lost hands to hold

after five solid months together, in the middle of November, we returned to London and realised that our breaths together were numbered, so we grasped at them with grabby hands until they were gone.