so i go out, out, out, something is a'callin me. i meander from place to person to place to phone to beer and smokes. i find, on my way out, a person to talk to, another one to fight off. gazes thrown into the room like fragile glass bulbs crashing on the floor.
and then i come home. i take the night bus. i take the night bus to the hotel. i open the book and i read. i read of her loss. how her child was kidnapped and killed. i read about her reasons of publishing her diary and the correspondence relating to the case. and as i read i calm down. i come to the place that was calling in the first place. a strange clarity fills my mind and my heart.
i bow to you anne lindbergh. these are the little seedlings of truth you were hoping would reach hearts to shine a light in the dark.
it is quiet. it is quiet now here. it is okay to be quiet.
it is okay.

sometimes i get the feeling that i have been running, even though there are moments and moments of peace. but sometimes i get the feeling that i have been running. restlessly. away and back and fro. to touch upon this fragile deep memory. to get back in touch with you. to get back in touch with me. to truly feel that what has happened and who i have become now.

maybe it isn´t awkward to go back to this place. maybe it is okay. maybe it is the only saving grace i have to pick up myself where i have let off.