i am sitting at my kitchen table, it is warm and even here on the hill the breeze is barely there. i dug through my closet to find the coolest garment i had, a hole long t-shirt that after years has become barely there but just enough.
i am leaving for NY tomorrow but can i tell you even though i look forward to being there, the coffee, beautiful studio space i will be working in and the loft i rented to rest my head or gaze at the skyline from it's rooftop will be nice- my heart is here my thoughts get processed here, my heart mends here, the deepest laughters happen here. Sometimes i think about how much i speak of the hill to you and that maybe i do not use my time here wisely but dear you this is where breathing happens, where arms get stretched, feet firmly touch the ground and were dreaming and reality merge.
My heart and belly feel like a ball of elastic bouncing and entangled in thoughts, experiences that are never still. I crave stillness, sometimes i think of my hand being held or my head resting on a shoulder of someone just as a child does for comfort.